Illusions:  A sequel to the Labyrinth
by Courtney Van Allen
Summary: A story about magic, reality, and family, set a quarter century after the events of the film. (Chapters 8, 9 added 7/17/02))
1. Prologue

Author's note: This is my first story on FF.net… I originally posted the first bits several months ago but yanked them in a fit of pique. Anyway. In my head it's epic… in real life, it's probably just going to be long. Read/Review. Or, you know, don't. Whatever makes you happy. Dress up as Donald Duck and spank the story if you like, it can't feel it.  
  
~*~  
  
Once upon a time, there was a fair young maiden (and maiden she assuredly was, for at that age she was still a romantic, and her dreams stopped with a single kiss on the dance floor). The maiden had been named Sarah by her mother, who was a butterfly: graceful, beautiful, delicate, and rather inclined to flitter off after a while. Her father does not come into the story much, so suffice it to say that he took for his second wife a woman of good wit and strong body.  
  
Because this is a fairy story, one may guess the result. Second loves always cause trouble in this sort of tale, and this case was no exception. Young girls always hate their stepmothers, after all.  
  
Eventually, as usually happens, another child was born, a boy named Toby. Sarah looked on this one who had supplanted her with what was either loathing or sibling rivalry, depending who you asked. For supplanted she was… where once she had been the woman of the house, now she was demoted to runner-up, second-best, almost-good-enough-but-not-quite. A son had been born. The house of Williams had a male link into the future. The daughter could thenceforth be considered an accessory.  
  
Sarah had two natures, as do most people. The butterfly in her loved the small boy who shared half her blood, and guarded him closely. But the crawling snake that lived in the darkest parts of her heart hated this little, whining, smelling, destructive brat. Someone once said that humans are the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape, which is a truism. It's difficult to say which of them spoke the night of the storm.  
  
For on that night, Sarah made a wish.  
  
It was foolish and unconsidered like most wishes.  
  
Unlike most wishes, it came true.  
  
But that story has been told elsewhere. It's a fine story with kings and knights and questing beasts and allegory and assonance and musical numbers. It is highly recommended. This, however, is a story of what happened after.  
  
The morning after the storm, Sarah cleaned the detritus of the party from her room, and stared into the mirror above her dressing table. She looked more or less the same as the previous night. It rather surprised her.  
  
Months passed, and Sarah thought about her adventures, and replayed certain scenes in her head over and over again. What would have happened if she had just…? But no. She was proud to have been the salvation of her brother, and she made herself be content with that.  
  
Time went on, since time is a creature of habit and doesn't tend to vary her lifestyle. Sarah finished high school and did not proceed onto college, very much against the wishes of her parents. Instead, she packed her bags and set off for points west to seek her fortune. Rather to her surprise, she was an instant, if moderate, success. She would think about this sometimes when she had spare time. Eventually she came to the conclusion that, when you lose what really mattered to you, everything else becomes easy.  
  
She tried not to have spare time. Instead, she developed a reputation as "The Hardest Working Woman in Hollywood." She was invited to all the right parties. Entertainment Weekly did a cover story on her during a week when none of the A-list stars were doing much in the way of drugs, divorce, and dying. She was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress, which she didn't win. She experimented with Scientology, EST, and even (gasp) Christianity. And slowly, she stopped having foolish dreams of castles and labyrinths and knights and princes. She became like most people: living day to day in moderate contentment, ignoring the nameless sadness at the bottom of her soul.  
  
One day, a prince of this world came along. He was a British rock musician with unsettling gray eyes, platinum-blonde hair, and a delightfully self- destructive personality. The wedding made Entertainment Tonight, during which Mary Hart complimented Sarah's Anna Sui gown. And if the marriage wasn't perfect, it could have been worse, and the pair stuck it out for a dozen years. Three children were born, which pleased Sarah. At some point, the British musician realized that his wife had married him for something he couldn't provide. This troubled him, but eventually he found consolation in the arms of a succession of eighteen-year-old groupies. Much like Sarah's father, he doesn't come into the story much, though in many ways he was a remarkable fellow.  
  
Sarah Williams bore three children to the prince of this world.  
  
The eldest, Katherine, was clever and cynical, without a romantic thought in her head. She wasn't as stunning as her mother (who had the face of an angel and a body that could make a saint sweat) but she was undeniably pretty. Her hair was true golden, not blonde, but golden, as though a very clever goldsmith had beaten it out of the actual metal. Her eyes were gray- blue and turned to the stars, and she studied astronomy in college.  
  
Jared, the second, inherited his mother's theatrical nature. He was beyond handsome, with wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and a smile that made thirteen- year old girls swoon. At the age of seventeen, he was already famous (a winner of Tiger Beat's "Sexiest Smile" competition) and costarring in an angsty teen-oriented ensemble drama on the WB (He played Fielding). In personality, he was generous, pleasant, easygoing, and a bit thick.  
  
The youngest was Eric, who was just eleven. It's hard to know what to say about a child that age, before life has a chance to mold them. Suffice it to say that he was cute, moderately clever, and well liked by his classmates. He collected Pokemon cards and was a wicked Starcraft player.  
  
Our story (everything up until now has been prologue, I'm afraid) begins on a wintry afternoon, not far before Christmas. In one world, the sky is gray and lowering, in the other, it's a warm pumpkin hue that casts a golden glow over the dry land. Picture two rooms, as different as two rooms can be. In one, a thirtysomething (well, fortysomething, but she plays thirtysomething in her films) actress sits ramrod-straight on a sofa so as not to wrinkle the expensive suit she wears, and talks loudly into a telephone. In the other, a platinum-haired king of the goblins lounges on a throne (he is a master at this, and by now could lounge on a wire) with his hands steepled before his face, deep in thought. The two haven't spoken in more than twenty-five years. In a few days, their worlds will once again collide. 


	2. Through the Woods

"Jesus CHRIST! That bastard almost hit me! "  
  
Katherine Williams rolled down the window of her beat-up VW Golf and yelled, "Just where the HELL did you learn to drive, jerk?!" before talking into her cell phone again.  
  
"Sorry, Ma. Honestly, New York drivers. Huh? Umm… I'm about ten, fifteen miles out now… but you know what traffic on the L.I.E. is at this time of day. Yeah… yeah… no. No. Ma, I'll be there in plenty of time. I'll BE there. Mother! I've driven a thousand miles …straight through…in the last eighteen hours. I am doing this as a FAVOR to you. So will you lay off for five minutes?"  
  
Kathy rolled her eyes and listened in silence for a few moments. When she spoke again, she sounded chastened, "Yes… yeah, I know. I know. I'm sorry I snapped. All right. I love you too. I'll be there soon."  
  
Snapping the phone shut, she tossed it onto the passenger seat with the rest of the junk accumulated in a week's worth of travel. Heaving an exaggerated sigh, she rummaged around for her lip gloss. Mother was obviously in a mood, and it would be a bad idea to show up poorly groomed. That was one of Sarah Williams' little quirks; A woman should dress well, have tidy hair, and be well made up at all times. Everything else would take care of itself.  
  
When Katherine was in one of her own moods (and she definitely had them), she was convinced that her mother's fixation on appearance was just another part of her being a control freak. When she was feeling more positive, she thought it was a way of showing love. It was as good a way as any… Sarah tried to be affectionate to her daughter, but it always was in a way she'd learned from one of her many therapists.  
  
"Ah-HAH!" With a triumphant flourish, Kathy recovered the lipgloss from under a pile of spilled sunflower seeds. She flicked down the driver's side mirror and started painting. In the process, she almost missed her exit, swerved across two lanes of traffic and causing to a passing Nebraskan to mutter "Damn New York drivers".  
  
Home was in a tiny settlement on Long Island. It wasn't as trendy as the Hamptons, but it was definitely rich. It hadn't always been that way. When Sarah had bought the house during her divorce, there had been no one for miles around. Ten years later, McMansions had sprung up everywhere.  
  
"A Porsche in every garage and a veloute of cherry tomatoes coulis in every pot… yep… we are now entering the yuppie zone." Kathy laughed at her own joke (she was that sort of person) and drove on.  
  
It was necessary to navigate a labyrinth of twisting country roads to get to the house. Carefully placed sound baffles blocked off the noise from the nearby highway. The neighborhood was a little slice of country an hour away from the largest city in the US, available to anyone who had eight million dollars to drop on a house. The woods were silent at this time of day, as the sun set and tinted the clouded sky ochre. A faint dusting of snow covered the unpaved road, and Kathy slowed down. A strange thought slipped into her head,  
  
"Now where have I seen a sky like that before?"  
  
"Maybe in one of the thousands of sunsets you've seen before?" replied the sensible part of her.  
  
"No… someplace… strange. When I was little."  
  
"Riiight."  
  
"Or maybe a dream?"  
  
"Excuse me, but is this relevant?"  
  
"I think it's important. "  
  
"Well, you really should be concentrating on the… JESUS! Brakes brakes brakes!"  
  
She slammed on the brakes as something skittered across the road in front of her. The wheels locked and she fishtailed for a moment before the car skidded to a stop.  
  
"Just what was that?"  
  
"A deer."  
  
"Bull. Deer do not look like that."  
  
"You were obviously nervous and not seeing clearly. Now why don't we not think about it anymore for a while?"  
  
If she'd been younger, Katherine wouldn't have listened to the practical sensible part of herself, and believed in what she'd actually seen. She was twenty-two, however, and knew better than to go down that road. Believing in things that clearly couldn't exist was dangerous and stupid. Do that, and next thing you'd think that the planet Venus was a UFO and marsh gases were ghosts. So she caught her breath, put the incident out of her mind, and resumed her drive.  
  
~*~  
  
In a small copse out of sight of the road, a junior goblin named Gutbucket was brushing dirt off his clothes. It was a mostly futile attempt: he had owned these clothes for nearly two years now, and they were more dirt than cloth.  
  
"Bleeding dollymop almost hit me."  
  
"Serves you right." The goblin who replied to his grousing was more senior, and considered to be quite intelligent as goblins go (he fell somewhere between a housecat and an interior decorator). His name was Screwtape. "You know not to let yourself be seen."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"Cos we're supposed to be hidden, arse monkey."  
  
"Oh. Right."  
  
Screwtape could see the understanding cover Gutbucket's face and sink without a trace into the black pit that was a typical goblin mind.  
  
"So what're we doing here, boss?"  
  
"Dunno. We just get the summons when someone's gonna make the wish. Dunno why, or who does it, or how they know in advance. We've gotta keep an eye out for 'is majesty and go fetch him when it's time for 'im to put in an appearance. That girl din't 'alf look familiar, din't she?"  
  
"I dunno. Two eyes, nose, 'air, mouth… usual selection of bits."  
  
"Well, I'm a bit of a connesewer of humans, you see. You, bein' a rank novice, would not know such mystick things… they all look alike at first, but a fella with cunnin' eyes like me can see subtle differences."  
  
"Well, 'er mum is the lady Sarah from the story. Izzat it, then?"  
  
"Wot?"  
  
"Sez 'ere right on the orders. Do you think 'er mum is gonna wish 'er away?"  
  
"Nah. You only get one wish. That's the rules, that is. So she's Lady Sarah's sprog, eh? Wot's 'is majesty gonna say about that?"  
  
"What's the matter, boss?"  
  
"Gutbucket, my boy, as Azog, greatest of the goblins said… This one's gonna be a bugger."  
  
~*~  
  
Katherine pulled up in front of her mother's great stone house as the last shred of the sun vanished over the horizon. In the east, a star could be seen through a break in the clouds. A limousine was parked in the circular driveway, with its driver sitting on the hood smoking a cigarette. Kathy parked, grabbed a duffel bag from the backseat, and climbed out of the car.  
  
"Evening, Antonio."  
  
"Bueno noche, Miss Katie. Can I help you with your bags?"  
  
"Nah. I'll take care of them tomorrow."  
  
"Miss Williams is waiting for you."  
  
As he spoke, the front door swung open, spilling warm golden light into the twilit driveway. Sarah Williams stood in the door.  
  
"Kathy! I'm so glad to see you!"  
  
"Hi, Mom," replied Katherine, slightly nonplussed by the unusually warm greeting.  
  
"If you hadn't gotten here, I might have had to miss the flight! They bumped it up! Can you imagine?  
  
When have you ever been on a flight that they made leave earlier?"  
  
That explained the warmth, anyway. "Never, ma. So where's Eric?"  
  
"In his room. Now. There's some cash on the counter if you need anything, of course you can use my credit card for emergencies, and I just had Consuela fill the fridge. I've given the staff two weeks off, so you'll be by yourselves. Is that all you need? I really should be going."  
  
"Um. Yeah, I guess."  
  
"Wonderful! Your brother and I will be back late on Christmas Eve. Call me if you have any problems."  
  
Sarah picked up her Chanel handbag from the end table, shrugged into a black wool coat, and gave her perfect makeup one more glance in the hall mirror. She took a few steps towards the door, paused with an expression of confusion on her face, then darted back and gave her daughter a quick, firm hug.  
  
"Thank you for looking after your brother, dear. You look lovely today. I just wish you'd get your pretty hair out of your face and stop wearing such drab, slouchy clothes. No one looks pretty in a flannel."  
  
"All right, mom. I'll talk to you soon. Have fun."  
  
"Kiss kiss."  
  
The two women kissed the air near one another's faces so as not to smudge Sarah's foundation or lipstick. And then she was gone. Kathy leaned on the wall and looked out the window as the limousine switched on its lights and pulled out. There was a smile on her face. It was weird, repressed, and only expressed in terms of compliments and criticisms of her looks, but it was love, and it was there.  
  
She turned around, and replaced the soft smile with a forbidding glare. Kicking off her shoes, she stalked down the hall to the foot of the stairs, and shouted, "Eric! Get down here AT ONCE, you disgusting little brat!"  
  
~*~  
  
There was quite a contingent of goblins around the house now. Screwtape and Gutbucket had been there first, and were taking full advantage of their brief seniority. They were the only ones allowed to look in the window.  
  
"Cor, boss. Maybe she's gonna wish 'im away. Wouldn't that be bleedin' funny? Takin' after 'er mum and all."  
  
"Could be, my lad. Could well be."  
  
There was a thunder of footsteps on the stairs as Eric descended. Kathy stood, glaring, and waited for him. He stopped on the third step, and there was a tense moment of silence.  
  
"Bear hug!" they yelled in unison. And making unconvincing growling noises, they squeezed each other as hard as they could. The two of them didn't, in the normal course of things, look much alike. Kathy had fair skin and blue eyes, Eric had freckles and brown eyes. But the grins on their faces would have let anyone know they were siblings.  
  
"Dude, you're getting too big for that. I swear I could feel my ribs crack."  
  
"That's cause you're a girl. Boys are stronger. What did you bring me?"  
  
"Sexist and greedy. What a charmer you are. And what did you do to your hair? Mom's got all this money and you get a bowl cut?"  
  
"All the boys at school do it."  
  
"And I suppose that also explains the cargo pants and the shirt with the picture of the Pikachu."  
  
"These are cool!"  
  
"Uh huh. Well, anyway, I didn't bring you anything. I talked to Mom and she said you were a very bad and loathsome boy this year, and so I didn't get you anything for Christmas. Maybe I'll pick you up some coal?"  
  
"Aw, Kathy…" he pouted exaggeratedly and ground a foot into the floor.  
  
"Who do you think you're fooling?"  
  
"You."  
  
Kathy sighed. "All right. Tell me you missed me."  
  
"I missed you."  
  
"And another hug."  
  
He hugged her.  
  
"That was a pretty chintzy hug, boyo. But I suppose it'll have to do. Come on into the hall."  
  
Eric stampeded into the hall, and started rummaging through the duffel bag.  
  
"Are all these for me?"  
  
"No. They are also for Mom and Jared. You may open one, and only one tonight… the rest need to wait for Christmas."  
  
As Eric considered his options, shaking each package with intense thought and a profound expression, the goblins turned away from the window.  
  
"Huh," muttered Screwtape.  
  
"Yeah. Huh," replied Gutbucket, trying to seem clever.  
  
"Don't seem like the typical sort for this thing. And the boy's a bit old."  
  
"That's what I thought."  
  
"Maybe it'll be accidental. Oi! You lot! Go through the car. See if she's got any books."  
  
This took a while, as the goblins had to jimmy open the car without touching any of the steel fittings. But eventually they managed, and produced a good-sized pile of books. Screwtape could actually read, and examined the books, although just from looking at them he had little hope.  
  
"'Beyond the Veil: Male-Female Dynamics in Modern Muslim Society'… ''Principles of Radio Telescopes'… 'Materials Selection in Aerospace Design'… 'Fundamentals of Physics'… wot's all this rubbish? Not a bleeding fairytale in the lot. Def'nitely not a copy of the book."  
  
"The book, boss?"  
  
"The book," replied Screwtape, with the same reverent tone that some Christians use when discussing the Bible. "It tells the 'ole story of us, even says how to call us. Sometimes some daft girl'll read it and say the words, not meanin' em or nothing. And then 'is nibs comes out, throws a scare in 'em, and lets 'em off. It keeps 'im busy."  
  
"Oh. Well, if she don't got the book, and she don't really want the kid gone, 'ow's she gonna wish 'im away?"  
  
"Buggered if I know."  
  
~*~  
  
"What's this?"  
  
"You can't read?"  
  
"Well, duh, I can read. What's it about?"  
  
"It's a movie from when I was a kid. I thought that since you like Harry Potter and all that you might get a kick out of it. Plus it was only ten bucks at Target. And it's moderately less stupid than Pokemon."  
  
"Who's the guy in the fright wig?"  
  
"David Bowie. He's a famous musician. I got to meet him when they were making the movie."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Well, this was before you were born. Mom was thinking about moving behind the camera. She did some design work, plus an uncredited script rewrite and I think some story stuff. I was on vacation, so I got to hang out on set."  
  
"Cool. Can we watch it now?"  
  
"Why not? I'll make some popcorn."  
  
"Are you gonna put that stinky cheese on it?"  
  
"Yes. And it's called Parmesan, you vulgar lout."  
  
~*~  
  
As Kathy and Eric walked out of the room, bickering in the thoughtless way that siblings have, Screwtape's face, peering in at the window, grew a grin that stretched all the way to his pointed ears.  
  
"That'll do," he said. 


	3. The Borderlands

****

9:17 a.m., Long Island, NY

Katherine Williams stared into the trunk of her car, looking at the chaos inside. "But it was tidy when I packed…" she muttered. Her textbooks lay open in a big pile, and for some reason smelled faintly of bananas. The lock of the trunk had scratches around it… it looked almost as if someone had broken in. But nothing seemed to be missing… and she hadn't been away from the car for more than a few minutes since she'd left Chicago. And it was hardly likely someone would have broken in last night…

"Kathy?"

"Yeah, Eric?"

"You need any help?"

"Sure. Can you take the guitar inside? Drop it and die slowly, you understand."

"Yeah, yeah."

Well, if nothing was gone, then it wasn't a problem. She took up her suitcase, piled her books precariously on her free arm, and hauled them back into the house. Eric took a few of them out of her hands.

"I put the guitar up in your room. Did you need me to get anything else?"

"I find you suspiciously helpful, punklet. You must have an ulterior motive. What do you want?"

"Well, maybe if you're not doing anything, I thought we could go to Fun Zone," he replied, his voice taking on a wheedling tone.

"Is that that dump you like with the blinky lights and loud noises and screaming eleven-year-olds running all around the place? With the uneatable pizza and five buck prizes that you can win by playing fifty bucks worth of games?"

"They have air hockey now."

"Oh. Well then obviously we must go, if only so that I may kick your butt. Why didn't you say so before? Are they open this early?"

"Yeah! They open all day."

"Of course they do. All right. Go get some warm clothes. The weather guy said snow before noon."

"YEAH!" he shouted as he stampeded up the stairs. Katherine watched him fondly. This was probably the last year he'd want to go to Fun Zone, and almost certainly the last year he'd want to hang out with his sister. Better make the most of it. She ambled over to the kitchen and took a hundred bucks off the counter. The keys to her mother's Ford Explorer were in the butler's pantry with the plate and crystal; she took those too.

There was a navy-blue sweatshirt on top of her luggage. Kathy pulled it over her head and grabbed an oversized windbreaker out of the closet. When she had one arm in, Eric rumbled back down the stairs, fully parka'ed up, and obviously raring to go, "What's taking so long? Let's go let's go let's go!"

"All right all right all right, mister pushy. Go grab my bag out of the car… we're taking the Explorer."

She locked the door behind her. As they drove out of the driveway, the first flakes of snow fell from the sky.

****

~*~

The goblins in the woods were nearly an army by now. While they took children often, an actual wishing was an unusual event, and they were enjoying the novelty. Neither Kathy nor Eric saw a trace of them, because by now they were well hidden. A goblin is just a sort of B-movie elf, after all, and no one can see an elf that is trying not to be noticed. They knew, without knowing how they knew, that _it_ was going to happen soon.

Pukey (this was a nickname: he was called Vomitous when he was born but thought the name too old-fashioned) led a small squadron of swiftly moving boggarts (all brothers, all named Crayola) in advance of the Explorer. He was breathing hard with the effort, but ignoring it… he could hear every word the two Williams children were saying.

"I liked that movie, Kathy."

"I thought you would. I like it too," she replied, which was a white lie. She didn't care for fantasy films, and had spent the evening reading _U.S. News and World Repor_t and trying to solve the crossword in the _Times_.

"I wish stuff like that happened in real life." And every goblin in the woods caught their breath. There was silence, a rarity anywhere the twilight people are.

"Really? The first time I saw that movie I thought it was scary."  
  
"What?"

"I was only eight. I think it was those little guys with the mutant babies on sticks that freaked me out. Uncle Toby thought it was scary too."

"Well… those were kind of creepy. But it was still cool. I mean, adventures… and going on a quest… and having beasts be your friends… and magic. Nothing like that ever happens to me."

"You're a dreamer, kiddo. I'll have to rent you 'The Princess Bride.'"

"That sounds girly."

"It isn't."

"But there's all these cool stories… like I wish I could go to Hogwarts. Or the Xavier Institute. But none of that stuff is real."

"There's other cool stuff that's real, Eric. People in fairy tales don't get to play video games or ride their bikes. Besides, don't Harry Potter and his friends have to hide all their powers? And I know no one likes the X-men, even though they always go and save the world."

"Still. I wish the goblins would come and take _me_ away."

Katherine was confused as to what happened next. She was sure that she heard a voice crying, "NOW, your highness!" And she recalled a horrible skidding feeling, as though the car had gone into a spin. She threw out her arm to protect Eric, and slammed on the brakes.

Which were no longer there. They had departed, evidently, along with the rest of the car.

~*~

Physics still applies in the lands beyond the fields we know. The Explorer had been moving at around fifteen miles an hour through the woods. Its passengers were therefore moving at the same rate. When the car disappeared from around them, they still had the momentum of the car, and flew through the air (Along with Kathy's bag, several coins which had been previously wedged in the seat cushions, and a tire iron) until gravity took over. 

It wasn't what you could call comfortable. They flew for nearly fifteen feet and hit the dusty ground with a thud that knocked the wind out of Katherine and dazed Eric. Kathy, being heavier, kept rolling a good distance after impact, and when she rose, had to blink away blood from a cut above her eye.

There was a moment of confusion. Where were the woods? Where was the snow? She rose to her feet and half-walked, half-scrambled to where Eric lay on his back, looking like a discarded rag doll. Gently, she shook his shoulder, terrified that she would go mad if he didn't awaken, half-convinced that she had already gone around the bend. But Eric blinked, raised himself up on his elbows, and promptly rolled to one side and sicked up his breakfast into the parched earth. His brown eyes swam with tears, and he whispered, "My head hurts."

"It'll be okay, kid. Just lay still for a sec."

At the restrained tension in her voice, he lifted himself up again (more slowly this time) and stared around at the desolate landscape before him. "Where are we?"

"Not sure. Something… "

How to finish that sentence? "Something seriously f**ked up is happening."? "Something seems to have transported us to what looks like the Mojave, except for the huge stone wall over there"? Or perhaps "Something, no, make that everything, that I believe about how the world works, has just turned out to be 100% wrong."

"Something strange is going on here. Stay still… I'll figure out what's been happening, where we are."

"Simple enough questions… you are in the borderlands of the Underground, near the entrance to the Labyrinth," spoke a man's voice with a crisp British accent. Kathy jumped, and scrambled about to face its owner.

He was tall, with a slim build, and shoulder length white-blonde hair was gathered at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon. His clothes were simple: a black coat, somewhere between a frock coat and a trench, crisp white shirt, and black breeches tucked into dusty kneeboots. The face was handsome, of course, in a harsh way, and the eyes ("Oh, sweet Jesus help me," thought Kathy, "His _eyes_!") were as cold and silver as two mirrors. His lips were curved in a half-smile that touched nothing else on his face.

"And I believe that you two can deduce "What's been happening?" from my first answer."

~*~

Kathy slowly rose to her feet, placing her body between the man and her brother, wincing as a badly twisted ankle protested. She hesitated a moment, and bowed her head uncertainly.

"Um… I take it to mean that you are… Jareth?" She fumbled the name, and tacked on a hesitant, "Your majesty."

"Quite. And you are… Katherine and Eric," his voice mockingly imitating her confused intonation. "Now that the pleasantries are over, I shall require the boy."

"What? No, please, your highness, there's some sort of misunderstanding."

"I'm afraid not. The wish has been made. It always amazes me how you people never take your words seriously until it is too late… and I find it terribly remarkable in your case. One might have assumed your mother would have taught you more wisdom, considering her little adventures with her own brother."

Kathy scowled, "One might have assumed that, yes." _Thank you **very** much, Mom_, she thought to herself. "But I didn't wish him away… he did. And he didn't really mean it."

With an uninterested shrug, Jareth replied, "And what if he didn't? Very few people do… but I am in the business of granting wishes, not providing psychological analyses on the motivations behind them. Come along, Eric. It's time for you to go. Katherine, you may stay or depart, as you wish." He turned away, raised a black-gloved hand and made a come-hither gesture to the reclining boy. Eric, a look of fear on his freckled face, stood up, and walked towards him. His motions were unwilling, and jerky, like a badly handled marionette. It was horrible to watch.

"Kathy, I can't stop moving!"

The despairing tone of his voice shocked Kathy out of fear and into blind rage. She couldn't have done it in cold blood, but she darted forward, and grabbed the shoulder of the departing goblin king. His eyes were even colder than before as he turned to face her.

"Don't do that."

"Screw you. I'm… I'm… I'm an American citizen, damn it, and I do not have to put up with this crap."

"You are mistaken in thinking you have a choice."

"Bull. I saw the movie; I know how this works. I get to try and solve the Labyrinth, and if I do, you can't take him."

"You know, surprisingly, you're wrong. He wished himself away. Had you been the one to summon me, things would have been quite different."

"He's a kid. You can't just expect him to have that sort of responsibility, it's not fair."

"Now where have I heard that before?"

"Shut it. I'm going to run your precious maze. And I'm going to beat it." Her chin was stuck out, and her blue-gray eyes flashed in anger.

"No, no, and no. Good day." With that, Jareth and Eric began to fade.

He was snapped back into opacity by Kathy's voice, saying, in tones of apparent satisfaction, "I _thought _you were chicken."

~*~

An interlude, for just a bit of background information. Kathy was her mother's daughter, after all, and though she had never gone in for acting, she had a certain natural gift for theatrics. This gift manifested itself at rather odd times. For example, in the sixth grade, Kathy's voice had taken on a peculiar ring. That ring was… oh, well, it was insolence, contempt, and arrogance rolled up into one. She hadn't been aware of it at first, and it had taken two parent-teacher conferences and several spectacular kickings of her ass before she learned to stop doing it. That voice hadn't been used in nearly ten years. Like a fine wine, it had only improved with age. 

Jareth wasn't any more immune to it than anyone else. "_What_ did you say?"

"Oh, you're deaf as well as stupid? Terribly sorry, old chap. I said, "I _THOUGHT_ YOU WERE CHICKEN!"" The voice sounded even better in a shout.

"How dare you?"

"Please. You think I'm scared of you?" The wonderful thing was, at that instant, she wasn't scared. There was no space for "scared" in the headful of "pissed off" she had going. "My mother took you to school, Jareth, I understand your hesitating to take on another Williams girl. Still… cluck cluck."

"Stop that."

"It must have been hard, being made into mom's bitc… that is, being defeated by a girl, and all. Must have just eaten you up inside. Oh well, probably best to cut your losses, anyway, and after all…"

"Be silent!" The last word was almost a shout, the King's cold glaze having shown a crack. A moment later, the half-smile was back on his face and he folded his arms across his chest. "Very well. You may try. A warning… the Labyrinth is not a game, nor a children's story. It is most likely that you will be wounded, or even killed." His voice suggested that he would rather enjoy the latter. "Still interested?"

Katherine folded her arms, and looked Jareth directly in the face. For a moment, they looked like two sides of a coin, or a matched set of statues. "Of course," she replied, serenely.

"Very well. Catch!" 

Kathy grabbed the silver disc he had lobbed at her. It was a pocket watch, very old, and the size of the palm of her hand. She flipped it open and saw a face marked with thirteen hours. It was stopped. She looked up, but this time, not at Jareth.

"Eric, I'll save you. I promise."

Eric looked as though he would have replied, but Jareth raised a gloved finger in a gesture of warning, and the boy subsided. "You have thirteen hours to reach the heart of the Labyrinth. Typically I think it's a pity when one of you sets off on these pointless journeys. In your case, though, I think you deserve whatever you get."

And then the man and boy were gone, leaving only their footprints behind. 

The watch began ticking softly. Kathy snapped it shut without looking, and stalked over to her bag, where she shoved the thing into a side pocket. She gathered the tire iron and the backpack up and looked along the wall, which had no visible opening in either direction.

"Boy, I am in it_ deep_," she murmured to herself.

But she set off to the right.


	4. A Cakewalk

Notes: The "Be bold, be bold, but not too bold," line is from the story of Mr. Fox, one of the "Oh GOD that's creepy" school of fairy tales. 

~*~

She had been walking now for what felt like about fifteen minutes. She wasn't sure of the duration; her digital watch said it was 19:67 on a Monday, Thursday, and Sunday simultaneously, and the pocket watch was tucked away. The dust kept getting into her throat and making her cough. And to her left, the wall of the Labyrinth rose, stretching into the distance, unbroken by doors or windows.

No helpful dwarves or wise old elves, eager to impart knowledge and secrets of success, seemed to be in evidence. The land was empty of everything except trash plants and Kathy.

"Fine," she muttered. "Not a problem."

The cut on her forehead had stopped bleeding. Her ankle still hurt, and each breath made her ribs ache, but she wasn't by any means incapacitated. She ran a hand over the wall, which was made in the old New England style of carefully fitted rough gray stones, with no mortar. It rose straight and true to a height of about twenty feet. 

Kathy sat down and kicked off her sneakers. They were more flexible than the boots she generally wore, but not nearly good enough for what she needed now. Working quickly, she knotted the laces together and slung the sneakers around her neck. Tightening the straps on her backpack, she rose up.

The wall was good quality, but very rough. She raised her hands and insinuated them into a crack some three feet above her head. Lifting herself up, her besocked toes perched on a jutting piece of rock. The hands went up again, and so on and so forth. It was difficult, and once she very nearly slipped when she forgot and put her full weight on the bad ankle, but it was a way in.

The climb didn't take long. She sat at the top of the wall and looked out at the maze before her. It wasn't really all that big, she realized… perhaps five miles to the center as the crow flew. Kathy wished she could fly. The route was so full of turns and kinks it was more like a Celtic knot than anything else. 

She tossed her backpack to the ground, where it clanked loudly, and put on her sneakers again. Time has a way of moving on without you. 

"When you hang down," she told herself, "It'll only be a twelve foot drop. You used to do that on playgrounds when you were five years old. It's a cakewalk. Just roll when you hit the ground."

Supporting herself on her arms, she turned her front to the cold stone, and lowered herself until she dangled by her fingertips. And then let go. The bad ankle and rib protested, but she made it more or less unharmed. "Hah," she exulted, "That's the first step." A subtle hissing noise (the sound which is caused by dissolving magic) behind her made her turn around to see a great gate in the wall, plated with richly carved brass, that stood exactly where she had climbed over. It was even slightly ajar.

"Well up yours too, you big blond British bastard."

Another wall, this one in gray-veined white marble, ran parallel to the outer wall she had just wasted a good ten minutes climbing. This one, however, had a door near at hand. Roughly carved runic letters were hacked into the stone, contrasting oddly with the smooth perfection of the marble. Curiously, she ran a hand over them… and swiftly pulled back in surprise, for where her fingers touched, the letters became perfectly readable English. They said simply, 

"_Be bold, be bold… but not too bold,_

Or else your life's blood shall run cold."

Kathy shivered. The feeling of the letters squirming and changing under her fingers was one she wished she hadn't experienced, and something that she strongly suspected she wouldn't forget. A warning, then. She shouldered her backpack again, and passed through the doorway. It led to a marble hallway, which ran for ten feet and forked into two diverging paths. She chose the left-hand one, and set off at a jog.

~*~

The Labyrinth and the city at its center are always hot. No one knows why. The weather in the other lands east of the sun and west of the moon is always "most clement and gentle." But the castle, which is the heart and soul of the whole land, is always cold. It can't entirely be due to the massive old stones that form the halls and turrets. There must be something else.

Eric stood in the center of the unkempt throne room and shivered out of cold, fear, and illness. He was pale, and his freckles stood out on the pallor of his skin. Directly before him, the king of the goblins looked intently into his eyes. Eric wanted nothing more than to look away, but some instinct told him that would be extremely dangerous. Still, when Jareth extended a gloved hand toward him, he couldn't help but flinch back.

"Don't be stupid, boy. I'm not going to hurt you."

With that, he tapped Eric once, gently, directly between his eyes. The boy blinked twice, and shook his head experimentally.

"What did you do?"

"You had a mild concussion, which occurred as a result of the way the way I bought you to the kingdom. I have removed it. Those are the rules."

"Why didn't you help Kathy?" asked Eric belligerently, "She was hurt too. I saw it."

"She's got a bruised rib and a lightly twisted ankle. She'll live. Besides, you are my property. I have an interest in seeing you are properly maintained. She's only an irritation."

"That's not very fair."

"Ye gods, it's genetic."

"And anyway, I'm not your property. She'll save me."

"No, she won't."

"Yes she will."

"No, she…" Jareth stopped, shook his head in irritation, and said sharply, "Look, boy, the fact of the matter is that no one can beat the Labyrinth unless I let them."

"Mom did."

The Goblin King's face grew dark and thunderous, and Eric stepped back. Jareth stood with his fists clenched at his sides, obviously trying to gain control of some fugitive emotion. When he spoke again, his voice was tight.

"Your mother had help, and certain abilities which your sister does not possess. She will lose."

"Kathy's smart and brave."

"I have no doubt. But the Labyrinth requires more than that."

There was an air of finality in Jareth's tone, and he lowered himself into his throne with the expression of one who has no intention of continuing the conversation. He made a theatrical gesture with one hand, and a small crystalline orb appeared.

Eric sat down on the dusty floor and watched him. He had a very piercing stare, and in a few moments, Jareth glanced up at him.

"Well? I'm not your nursemaid, boy. Go and… play, or whatever it is you do. We've got hours yet."

"I'm not a baby. I don't want to go play," replied Eric, flatly.

"Very well," said Jareth, grinning, "Catch!"

He lobbed the crystal gently through the air at Eric, who caught it after a few fumbles.

"What is it?"

"What does it look like? It's a crystal. It can show you anything you want… if you're strong enough to command it."

Eric scrunched his brows together in confusion. "How can I command it?"

"Just concentrate on what you wish to see. But… and this is the important part… you have to be entirely silent while you do it, otherwise the charm won't work."

Eric folded his legs Indian-style and stared into the crystal, his chocolate-colored eyes wide. 

~*~

__

The Labyrinth, thought Kathy, as she slowed to a walk for a moment, _isn't nearly as weird as in the film. Just a big ol' maze. I haven't seen **anyone**, neither friend nor enemy_. Her sneakers crunched on the dead leaves that coated the marble-tiled paths.

"So where is everyone, anyway?" she said to herself.

"It's oor off-saison, young ladie!" said one thickly accented voice.

"Aye, tha's roight!" chimed in another nearly identically-sounding speaker, "Ye get most people making the wish aroond and aboot midsummer or midwinter! 'Tis the weather, ye see! No one likes a crying bairn aboot when it's freezin or bilin!"

Kathy blinked and looked into an alcove to her right, which she was 100% sure had been empty until a moment ago. Now there stood two… well, things. They certainly weren't human, but they didn't really look like how she pictured goblins. In fact, they looked more like playing cards designed by giraffes than anything else.

"'Bilin?' 'Aboot?'" she asked confusedly, "What are you talking about?"

"The Labyrinth, ye daft berk! 'Tis this toime of year when ever one takes a holiday!"

"Savin us who actually maun needs work here, accourse!"

"Oh, aye, us accourse!"

They seemed rather excitable. Every sentence was a shouted exclamation. Kathy ran her fingers through her hair and looked around. She was entirely unsurprised to find that a wall had replaced the trail behind her. A sigh escaped her. It had been too easy.

"All right… so you're something I have to get past before I can continue the rest of the labyrinth?"

"Tha's right!"

"And… I remember this bit… one of you tells the truth and one of you always lies? And one path leads onward, the other one to certain death?"

"Verra good!"

"How do I know you're not lying right now? Maybe you're both liars. Maybe both ways lead to certain death."

The two things conferred briefly.

"Err… ye don't."

Kathy set her bag down and knelt in front of it. She unzipped the largest compartment and spoke composedly, "I was never that good at logic puzzles. Now, I do know the answer to this one… Mother told me… but since I know what happened to her, I think I'll go with Dad's suggestion." With that, she rose to her feet, concealing something behind her back.

"All right, then," she said, a hint of a grin hovering at the corners of her mouth, "You. In the red. Tell me which is the path to freedom."

"How do ye know that I'm no' the liar?"

The grin blossomed. She stood up, and although she wasn't a tall woman, she towered over the four-foot guards. Kathy took her hand from behind her back, to show the tire iron she was carrying. She tapped it lightly against her palm a few times, where it made a meaty thwap. 

"Because _you're_ going through there first."

~*~

"Hah!" yelled Eric, gazing into the crystal. Jareth was jerked from his own thoughts, and turned his head sharply to face the boy.

"What?"

"Kathy beat those guards with two heads! Look!"

Intrigued, Jareth sat down on the floor next to Eric and gazed into the crystal, where, indeed, he saw Kathy prodding the irritated guard. From the looks of it, both heads were swearing.

"Ah… the direct approach. I haven't seen that for quite some time." Jareth's tone was that of "Bored spectator at golf tournament". He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, and looked at Eric, silver eyes showing much more interest than when he had looked into the orb.

"I must say I'm impressed, boy. Controlling the crystals is no easy task. Have you got any fairy blood in you?"

"I heard Mom say that her aesthetician Rupert is a big old fairy, but at least he dresses nicely and knows how to choose a wine."

"Not, I suspect, the sort of fairy I had in mind. But you have an obvious aptitude for magic, which is quite rare in modern humans."

Eric looked up at the Goblin King, suspicion and wonder mingling in his expression. "You mean it?"

"Indeed I do."

"Sweet!"

"Quite. Are you sure you don't want to stay in this land? There are so many things you could learn. The crystals are only the beginning." 

"Wow." Eric was quiet, and looked at the ground. "But my family would miss me. Anyway, I don't like the goblins. I don't wanna be one."

"You don't necessarily have to be a goblin, you know," Jareth's voice became low, conspiratorial, "And how sure are you that your family would miss you? I believe…"

The Goblin King looked at Eric for a moment, while the boy felt the odd, but unmistakable, sensation of someone rummaging through his thoughts.

"Yes… your father visits you briefly every year, and has shown no desire to see you more than that. Your mother is entirely wrapped in her own life, and in any case, loves your older brother… Jared? much more than she loves you. Your sister obviously cares for you, but you seldom see her since she's gone to school, and she seems not to miss you nearly as much as you miss her."

Eric's lip trembled for a moment. "How did you know that stuff?"

"Just a trick. Something you can learn easily. If you decide to stay of your own free will, of course. The choice is everything."

Eric looked back into the crystal, his eyes still wide, but with new doubt growing in his heart.

~*~

Lefts and rights, lefts and rights… Kathy figured if she kept a basically straight path overall, she'd get to the center eventually. She had stripped out of her flannel, coat, and sweatshirt, getting down to a plain white T-shirt, but she was still sweating like mad. At some point the walls and pavements around her had switched from white marble to vine-covered granite. Huge striped bees buzzed in the gold-lit corridors, sipping from the purple flowers that dotted the vines. It was, Katherine thought, the most beautiful place she'd ever seen.

She came to a doorway of some dark reddish wood, set back into the stone, with trailing creepers hanging over its face. If an errant breeze hadn't lifted the vines for a moment, she might have missed it. The fact that there hadn't been any breeze anywhere else, and that you shouldn't take things for granted in the Labyrinth, escaped her entirely.

Gripping the verdegrised ring that served for a doorknob with both hands, she leaned back on her heels and pulled the door open. The antique hinges groaned. Kathy gripped her tire iron tightly and stepped through the door.

Her mouth dropped open in amazement. She stood in an immensely long hall, with inlaid parquet floors and a ceiling made entirely of stained glass. More vines trailed across the roof of the building, and as they blew in the wind (a wind which, by the by, couldn't be heard or felt in the corridor outside) they cast patterns of shadows in the colored light from the ceiling.

But that wasn't the most amazing thing. Covering the length of the hall on either side, in old gilt-wood frames, were life-sized portraits done in oils. Had, Da Vinci, say, or Vermeer seen them, they would have realized that someone else had already mastered portraiture, and sought more rewarding careers in dentistry or accounting.

At the end of the hall, a wide door was open. Through it could be seen an stretch of forest… and towering above the forest, the Goblin city, and the castle at its center. Kathy laughed with joy and took off towards the doorway.

It was hard not to slow down, despite her eagerness. The paintings were truly remarkable. Typically, the subjects were young women, although a few young men and older people were scattered here and there. And again, while they seemed to be by the same artist, they covered a wide range of historical fashions. Here was a brunette woman in a chiton, and next to her was a lady with high cheekbones, dark skin, a braided black wig and a pleated linen skirt. A bit further on, a Japanese girl wearing layer upon layer of silk robes stood next to a cavalier with long curls and a ruff.

None of the subjects of the painting's eyes could be seen. The Japanese girl stared down at the tea that she poured, the girl in the chiton intensely watched the distaff upon which she spun. The bewigged woman had simply closed her kohl-lined eyes. Regardless of what they were doing, all the faces had the same expression… as if they had learned that all the secrets of the world were sad.

As Kathy walked down the hallway, the costumes grew more and more modern. Here was a couple, the man in a Confederate Civil War-era uniform, the woman in a wide crinoline skirt. Then came a girl with red lips, bobbed hair, and a short fringed dress. And finally, at one of the paintings, Kathy slowed to a stop.

The girl in the picture was terribly familiar. She had long brown hair, and stood with her chin up, gazing (it appeared) into the mackerel sky that raged above her. Behind her, the scenery was more suggested than shown, but it seemed to consist of stairs and doorways. Her clothes were simple; jeans, sneakers, a white poet's shirt, and a brocaded vest. Kathy hadn't ever seen the ensemble, but the face was familiar. This was Sarah Williams, twenty-six years ago.

Kathy felt a shiver of foreboding run up her spine, and she left the picture of her mother behind. The portraits came to an end about thirty feet further on, and the door was perhaps sixty feet after that. Without knowing why, she started jogging.

Woman with kinky black hair wearing a kanga. Man with spiked blue hair and lip ring. Girl in DKNY business suit. The pictures flashed by. And then, Kathy couldn't help but stop, for the very last painting in the hall was a most interesting subject.

It showed a young woman, with true-gold hair, a lithe body, bitten fingernails and callused hands. She was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a plain white T-shirt. On her back was a green knapsack, in her hand was a tire iron. Unlike the other paintings, the subject of this one stared boldly out at the viewer with gray-blue eyes, and on the face was a go-to-hell grin. The face was even more familiar than that of Sarah. Kathy had looked at it at least twice a day for years and years, had washed it, plucked its eyebrows and medicated its pimples. It was her own face, of course.

Despite herself, she was drawn to the painting. No one had ever made a portrait of her before. Upon closer examination, she began to wonder if anyone had actually "made" this one. It was exactly up to date, from the cut over one eyebrow to the rip in the left knee of her jeans. But when she extended a finger to touch it, the paint was dry. And there was no artist's signature. 

The air smelled tinny, the smell of magic at work. Half-dazed, Katherine reached up to touch the face, the mirror image of her own. But before her finger touched the canvas this time, the image blinked, smiled beautifully, and reached from the frame to take Katherine into its arms.

There was a moment of silence in the empty gallery.


	5. Bad Pictures

There was a moment of silence in the empty gallery.

And then, something stepped out of the portrait. It had golden hair, a t-shirt, ripped jeans, and a slowly purpling bruised cut over one grey-blue eye. But it was not Kathy Williams. The mouth was harder, and the posture was more relaxed and seductive. When it spoke, the voice was lower and faintly accented.

"_Fi-_nally! _Damn_, it's good to be out of there!"

It twirled around experimentally.

"Not too bad, all things considered. The body could stand to lose five pounds, of course, and the hairstyle isn't exactly flattering, but I can deal with it. I just hope this damn cut doesn't leave a scar."

The thing smiled, its eyes narrowing, as it looked into the nearby portrait. The subject was the same, but now the girl in the painting had dropped her crowbar, and stared out with a stunned-calf expression of startlement.

"Well, well, well. So you were Kathy Williams, huh? I must say I prefer Katherine… so much more elegant and graceful. I think I'll go with that."

The thing from the painting grinned (or at least showed its teeth). "I do hope you enjoy millenia stuck in two dimensions more than I did. Rummaging through your memories, I think you might. By the breath of the Nuckelavee, you were dull. Things are definitely going to change."

Cocking its head, the creature scrutinized the painting. "Now don't look at me that way. I'll still go and rescue Eric. I've got a bone to pick with Jareth, anyway. And you've got a good chance of getting out one of these days. Few enough of his bleeding majesty's guests ever came through here, and none of them, until you, was stupid enough to touch their portrait, but lightning does strike twice. And I doubt he'll try to hide the chamber so hard."

She snorted. "After all, it's not as if you're any kind of threat to anyone. Not like I am." She… it… laughed, then. "Rather a one-sided conversation, isn't it? Anyway, I'll be a much better Katherine than you ever were. I'll dress better. I'll make friends easier. I'll cut a swathe through the male population of America with this body. I'll learn how to drive a stick-shift. Hell, I might be President one day. Just you wait and see."

The thing tightened the straps of its backpack. "Ah well, ex-Kathy. 'Some little talk awhile of me and thee; There seemed--and then no more of thee and me.' I must be going. There's so much to do. Ta-ta, _dahling_. Have a _nice_ time!"

~*~

Screwtape and Gutbucket lived in a garrison in one of the goblin villages scattered here and there in the Labyrinth. They passed through the vine-hung alleyways that surrounded their hometown in unaccustomed quietude.

"Awright, then, Gutbucket, me boy," said Screwtape, "Why so bleedin' quiet? I was right thrilled when I came back from my first trip to the outside."

"It don't seem right, is all," Gutbucket replied, "Neither of 'em meant it. I thought 'is bleedin lordship din't really take anyone who was wanted in the known fields."

"Well… I oughtn't ta be tellin' this to you, being as you're such a callow youf, but the fact is, it ain't always been so. He's the king, and as such, 'e's got sartain rights and risponsabilitees. Back in the day, 'e'd take anyone 'e fancied wot wandered off. All the Seelies did."

"Cor… I ain't never 'eard about that before."

"T'was afore your time. Afore mine, really."

"Why'd 'e quit, then?"

"People stopped believin' in fairies. Out there, they believe in iron, and compooters, and big bastard gods who sit in the sky and toss thunderbolts. They don't 'ave the old fear and respeck that people used to 'ave for the twilight people. They're too strong. So ever'one 'as to keep their 'eads down, coz the day they start believin' in us again, they can wipe us out. We take only wot they doesn't want, and they leave us in peace."

"Bugger me with a piano leg if that don't take the porridge."

"Swear on me mum's grave."

"Your mum ain't dead yet."

"Well, yez can just wait, then, can't you?"

They rounded a corner, and stood before a rosewood door, which hung ajar. 

"Never known that door to be opened, boss."

"Oh, bleedin' 'ell. 'At's the prison of the Brollachan, 'at is! Oo'd be daft enough to go in there?" Screwtape drew the short sword which hung at his side. "Come on, then."

"Why?"

"We're soldiers, ain't we? It's our job to keep the peace!"

"Oh. Yeah. Right." The idea sunk in, Gutbucket drew his sword, and the two goblins cautiously entered the portrait gallery. Screwtape immediately heaved a sigh of relief, for the only living thing in the room was the girl who he had recently helped take to the underground, walking in his direction. He scurried forward.

"Oy! Miss! Wot's all this, then? Ye can't be in 'ere! Come along and don't touch _anything_!"

The girl looked at him, and Screwtape came to a halt. He'd never seen such a contemptuous gaze before, and he'd been in the service of the Goblin King (who was a master of contemptuous gazes) for most of his life. He walked forward, but more cautiously this time.

"Miz Williams?" 

~*~

In the stone house on Long Island, Sarah sat, staring at her hands, willing herself not to lose control. Her face was pale, and black rings around her eyes told a story of too many miles traveled on too little sleep. There was a pack of reporters encamped on the lawn, police and security guards at each door, and taps on all the phones. In California, Jared was undergoing much the same.

Lines played back from the hectic hours behind her.

__

We found the car, Miss Williams. It was in a snowbank about a mile from the house. It looks as though it ran off the road, but there's no damage, and no evidence of a struggle. Has anyone ever sent kidnapping threats to you?

About ten years ago, there was a man… but he's still in prison. And he never directed anything against the children.

How about your husband? 

Ex-husband. He tends to get more of that sort of thing… but his people still keep my people apprised. There's been nothing recently.

Is there any chance that your daughter could have run off with your son?

No, no… she wouldn't do anything like that. She loves Eric.

I understand how you feel… but… were the relations between your daughter and yourself completely happy? 

And the answer to that would have been no. It hadn't always been that way, of course. When Kathy had been younger, they'd been as close as any diaper-commercial mother and child. But then Jared was born, and then the move to England, and the slow collapse of her marriage, and, well someone had to teach Kathy the dangers of living in dreams, who better than her mother… At some point, they'd become cordial strangers to one another

The news was playing in the background. Sarah heard her own name and glanced dully at the screen. It was the first reports. They were showing film of some awards ceremony last year. Sarah didn't recall why she'd dragged the children along to that. Perhaps she'd wanted to seem maternal.

But there were all three of the kids, the boys in tuxedos with matching Mickey Mouse cummerbunds, and Kathy, looking vaguely poleaxed in navy silk. Sarah watched as the screen self kissed the air next to her daughter's cheek, and then waved, smiling professionally, at the crowds. The ceremony was replaced with a newscaster, who looked solemn for a moment, read off the police tip line phone number that flashed on the screen, and then grinned as she chatted with the weather guy.

There was a clamor outside at the same time as the VCR made the soft "click click click… whirr" that indicated automatic rewind. Sarah rose and walked over to the entertainment center, where she pressed the "Eject" button. A thick cockney accent rose over the din outdoors, yelling, "Will all of you bleedin' bastards SOD OFF!"

She stared at the tape in her hand as the front door opened, and a tall man in his forties, with a close-cropped bleached-blond hairstyle, black jeans and a t-shirt strode in, flanked by two policemen. "Look, push off, the lot of you, I've got to talk to Sarah."

Sarah tore her eyes away from the video and looked up at her ex-husband. "Oh… Chris… it's you. I thought you were in England," she managed to get out.

He stepped over and they hugged, with the awkward grace of a couple who had embraced a thousand times before they learned to detest one another. "Hey, love," he said, softly. "I was on a plane out anyway… we're the musical guest on Saturday Night Live this week. I came as soon as Jared called. Is there any news?"

"What? No… nothing's happened."

"I rang up my cousin John… I know you don't like him much, but he's dead good at this sort of thing."

Sarah's eyes narrowed briefly. "No… no… that's fine. Will you excuse me for a moment?"

And leaving her bewildered ex behind, she tossed the tape onto the couch and raced up the stairs to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. The room was all pale cream and beige, and elegantly underdecorated. It could have been a hotel suite for all the personality it had. But there was a vanity with a mirror against the wall, and it would do.

Sarah Williams sat down on the short stool before the vanity, and took a deep breath. She had never done this, although there had been plenty of times when she'd been tempted. You had to keep fantasy and reality in their proper places, didn't you?

Her voice sounded loud in the empty room. 

"Hoggle? Ludo? Sir Didymus? Is there anyone there? Please… I need you."

~*~

Notes: A Brollachan is a malevolent spirit from the western highlands of Scotland, usually found in swamps. Traditionally it can speak only two words: "Myself" and "Thyself". It is also said to be shapeless save for a mouth and eyes, but with the ability to take the shape of whatever it is it sits upon. My brollachan is substantially different from the classical one (It lives in a portrait gallery and can evidently quote from the Fitzgerald translation of "The Rubiayat of Omar Khayyam of Naishapur"), but what the hell, it's mine. The nuckelavee is an extremely nasty Scottish demon who lives in the sea, emerging from time to time to feast on humans.


	6. In which there are several conversations

Eric watched the crystal in confusion, as Kathy stepped into the portrait, and then immediately stepped out again. He watched her speaking to the painting, and wondered why she looked so mean all of a sudden. 

Jareth, who had more experience in these things and could hear what was being said, swore under his breath. He'd forgotten about the brollachan, going to great effort to build an oubliette that would suitably contain it. Very few people ever visited that section of the Labyrinth, and he had hoped that he would never have cause to have to remember it again.

Damn the girl! She couldn't just stop being an irritation, no, she had to cause trouble even in the manner of her getting lost. Grimacing, he rose gracefully to his feet and brushed the dust of the throne room off his breeches.

"Stay here, boy."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to pull your sister out of the frying pan and back into the fire, if you must know."

"What?"

The question was addressed to empty air. The Goblin King was gone.

~*~

Sarah waited in front of her mirror for an endless amount of time. Eventually, two figures, one huge, one small, slowly ambled into the reflection and took up places behind her. She smiled through her tears, and turned to greet them, but there was nobody there.

Looking back into the mirror in confusion, she saw that her two friends were still there.

"Hoggle… Ludo… I'm so glad to see you. Why don't you come through? I've missed you so much."

"We'd like to, missy," replied the dwarf, "But the fact of the matter is, you're out of practice. You ain't called on us in a quarter-century. You wouldn't be callin' us now if you didn't need something." His tone was full of sorrow.

"I'm sorry, Hoggle, I'm so sorry," and she was, her chocolate eyes filling with tears, "But I had to make a choice. I couldn't keep living a halfway life. Not a day goes by that I don't regret it, but I had to be part of the real world. And I couldn't do that as long as I still was holding on to you."

"It's all right, missy. Everyone 'as to leave dreams behind eventually. You jest left it 'till later than most," said Hoggle, a sad smile creasing his wrinkly face.

"Sarwah friend," added Ludo, ponderously.

Sarah laughed a little, despite herself, and wiped tears from her face. "I am so happy to see you again, both of you. It's been so long… I'd forgotten what it was like to be with friends like you. But where is Sir Didymus?"

The beast and dwarf reflections looked up at one another with worry in their eyes. "Ah, Sarah…" said Hoggle, hesitantly, "It's been a long time. And he… he was a fox, you know. They live so much that they don't live long."

"What? But… you live… there's magic in the Labyrinth, isn't there? How could… how could this happen?" 

"There's still death in the Labyrinth, missy, at least for the likes of us. Magic can make you live longer, but the price is too much."

Sarah, struck to the heart, looked at the two remaining friends of her childhood. Hoggle was much the same, perhaps a bit more wrinkled around the eyes, but streaks of grey ran through Ludo's thick fur. And then she looked at her own face, and it was as if she were seeing it for the first time. She looked younger than her years (thanks to exhaustive facial treatments and one subtle eye lift), but the face was definitely that of a woman, not a girl. Involuntarily, she reached out to her reflection, wondering what had happened to the fifteen year old girl who used to be there.

Nothing stays static, no matter what world you're in.

She exhaled raggedly, and whispered, "I'm so, so sorry. Forgive me. I'm so sorry."

"Naught to forgive, missy. He had a good innings. A wife. Kittens. Grandkittens, for a' that. Now, what did you call us for?"

"I have a son and a daughter. They've gone missing, and I'm afraid they might be in the Labyrinth. I had hoped you might help them, somehow."

Hoggle's brow wrinkled. "Easier said than done… His Majesty's kept a closer eye on things since you beat him." Hoggle cackled and rubbed his small hands together, "Mind, I wouldn't half like a chance to show him a trick or two again."

"Ludo help," growled the beast.

"Aye, right. For you, Sarah, we'll do it."

"Thank you, so much, both of you."

"Thank us when we gets it finished, Missy."

They were gone then, and Sarah was left gazing into her tear-streaked reflection, thinking of debts that could never be paid.

~*~

Meanwhile, back at the portrait gallery, the two goblins advanced cautiously towards the brollachan, swords out.

"Miz Williams?"

The blonde figure seemed to notice them for the first time, and it smirked. "Really, Jareth, is this the best you can do? I knew you'd come down in the world, but I had no idea things were this bad. Awww… so sad. Come on then, freaks. Time to die."

"Get 'er, lad!" shouted Screwtape, and he and his companion rushed the erstwhile Katherine. Goblins rely on numbers in battle, since individually they are not terribly physically imposing. The charge was not, thus, a sight to strike fear in anyone much more than three feet tall, and the brollachan found it hysterical. As they reached it, the laughing body became oddly liquid, and slipped between them like fog. A watcher couldn't swear to that, since it was over so quickly, and an instant later, the creature was solid again. Fists like stones knocked the two goblins on the back of their helmets and sent them flying into the wall.

"If you've finished knocking the help around, Adorna, perhaps you'd care to deal with me?"

The brollachan whirled, slipping into a feral crouch, a hiss emanating from Kathy's throat. Its smile never wavered as it murmured, "Ohh… yes, Jareth. I'd just love that."

~*~

Eric whacked the crystal, frustrated that he couldn't hear what was being said. Something very interesting was going on, but he couldn't tell what, exactly. He knew Kathy could never have tossed those goblins around like that. She would have done it if she could, but she just wasn't that strong. He shook the crystal in irritation, and peered within its depths.

__

Deeper…

And without knowing how, he looked deeper into the crystal, past the images, until he saw a glittering lattice woven of brilliant white threads. The sphere was made of magic, not crystal. And he could see…

__

This is how it works…

It was really just a toy, not that complicated, really, once you understood the idea behind it. And it could transmit sounds, he realized, but you needed to know how to hear them. And he knew how now. He reached inside, and cautiously made an adjustment.

"Betrayer," he heard Kathy say, in a thickening Scots accent.

~*~

"I never betrayed you, Adorna," replied Jareth.

"And what would you call your little _affaire de coeur_ with that mortal harlot, if not a betrayal?" she spat, dropping the backpack at her feet.

"I never met her until after I had broken off with you, as I believe I told you the last time we had this discussion."

The pair circled one another, warily, looking for the other's guard to be dropped, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

"Liar."

"I never lie, Adorna. I left you because… hmm… why did I do that… Oh. Yes. You were gibberingly insane. Not much has changed, I see."

"Bastard."

"Did you realize you've picked up Katherine's style of speech along with her life? Rather staccato."

"Jareth, everything that needs to be said about you can be said in words of four letters... little Kathy realized that. And she's lucky. What I've done to her is much better than what you would do when you tired of her… or when someone with better breasts and a smaller ass came along."

The Goblin King stopped dead in his tracks. "You labor under a misapprehension. She is not my…"

The brollachan launched herself at him, knocking him off balance. Jareth gripped her wrists tightly, and they whirled in a deadly dance through the gallery. Despite the fact that the Goblin king towered several inches over the Kathy's body, they were fairly evenly matched in strength.

Screwtape shook his bullet head and raised himself to his feet. When he saw his junior, Gutbucket, still unconscious on the floor near the portrait of Kathy, he hurried over and knelt beside the young goblin. Jareth snatched at the opportunity, and twisted himself and the brollachan in that direction. The creature was confused at the abrupt change of tactics, and when she stumbled over the pair of goblins, she could not correct her balance in time.

She snatched at Jareth, but all she managed was to draw four bloody scratches across his pale cheek. With a shriek of rage, Adorna tumbled back into the painting. The canvas surface rippled and was uncertain for a moment, and the tinny smell of magic wafted for the room. Then Kathy tumbled out.

Jareth could easily have caught her, but he simply stood watching, a gloved hand held to his bleeding jaw, as she landed flat on her back before him. The impact badly hurt her bruised ribs, but she barely noticed.

"I couldn't breathe," she whispered.

Or move or speak, actually, but it was the breathing that had been the problem. The sensation of having her lungs try to expand, but fail, since there was no third dimension to expand into… 

"It hurt," she whispered, not being able to come up with any other word to describe that agony. She rolled her head to one side, and saw the recuperating goblins. Turning her head to the other side, she saw a pair of dusty black boots. Knowing who was in them, she pushed into a sitting position and stared coldly up at the king. "You saved me. Why?"

"Because you are a minor irritation. The brollachan, on the other hand, has come very close to killing me on several occasions. As troublesome as you are, in this case, you were the lesser of two evils," he replied. The cynical half-smile was still on his face, but his eyes actually had an expression, albeit an unfathomable one. And his deep voice sounded a little… afraid?

Nah. Couldn't be.

Kathy glanced down at her right hand. Someone else's blood was beneath the bitten nails. She had had only the haziest view of the fight from within the painting, but she knew whose blood it was.

"Well… thank you, anyway," she said, surprising herself.

He raised a fair brow at that. "You're welcome. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

She rose to her feet, slung the backpack over her shoulders, and turned to depart. A soft thud made her turn around and look back. Jareth was down on one knee, and was supporting his weight with his hands. The scratches on his cheek were liquidly red, and his face was even paler than she remembered. Kathy took a few hesitant steps in his direction, asking, "Ummm… are you all right?"

"Get… out. All of you!" Jareth gritted out through clenched teeth, glaring at Kathy and the goblins with blazing eyes.

"But…"

"NOW!!"

Her nerve broke, and she ran for it, Gutbucket and Screwtape on her heels. They passed Kathy's portrait, where the brollachan was now depicted in an eternal stumble: ever falling, but never quite hitting the ground. Plunging headlong, they raced through the open doorway at the far end of the passage, stepping into the swath of meadow that preceded the forest.

This time, when Kathy looked back, there was a brick wall where the doorway had been, and no Jareth. Remembering the rage in his voice, she was relieved.

~*~

Eric drew his eyes away from the crystal when Jareth materialized in the throne room. The Goblin King stood ramrod-straight when he arrived, a posture that lasted a full three seconds. He collapsed into a heap, then, and did not rise. Scrambling over to him, Eric rolled him onto his back, and averted his eyes at the sight of the older man's face. The handsome, pale face was still there, with the four scratches upon it the only mar to its perfect symmetry. Overlaid on this, fading and brightening as Jareth breathed in and out, was a grim half-mask, swirling in colors of olive and brown and black. The wounds on this mask were festering, and pulling the flesh to conform to themselves.

Eric gulped, nauseated, and gently shook Jareth's shoulder. "Your majesty?"

The silver eyes opened, and tried to focus. "Venom," he whispered, his voice as gravelly as a man dying of lung cancer, "Forgot. Foolish of me." He tried his half-smile, but it was sickly and weak. "Call… servants. They… summon … a healer."

"You don't have time for that," Eric blurted out, not knowing it was true until he said it, "I can see the poison. They can't get anyone quick enough."

"You… _see _it? _You_?"

"Yeah. It's really bad, sir. It's spreading. Fast. Towards… towards your heart, sir."

"No!" he shouted, so loudly Eric jumped, "I… will not… die like this. Not now." And to Eric's amazement, he pushed himself to a sitting position, despite the venomous swirls that now surrounded his face and neck. "Not… like this."

Eric hesitated, and then said, "I think I know how to get rid of it. I see… I think I can see how to take it off of you."

Jareth gazed at the boy, now only a blur in his darkening sight. "Have… you ever done… a healing, boy?"\

"No, sir."

"Do you… know how easy it is… to make a mistake? Know… what you could do… to me if you make… a mistake?"

Eric nodded, slowly. He didn't know, exactly… but he was seeing things he had never imagined before, and he could see the delicacy required: to control the millions of interactions that distinguish a living being from a bag of meat and chemicals. To make sure that all those proceeded correctly, knowing that a small mistake could stop a heart or turn a mind into a blank slate… he shivered, but he nodded.

Jareth looked blearily at him for another moment, and then nodded in return. "Do it."

"Are you sure?" asked Eric, his nerves stretching out so tightly they could have been played like a violin.

"Not… much choice."

Carefully, Eric reached up to Jareth's face, and rested his small hand on the wounded side. The skin was hot and feverish, the swirls of venom sickening to touch, the blood from the wounds still flowing. But somewhere, beneath it, were tiny pieces (Cells, whispered the part of Eric who had gotten an A in science). They remembered what it was like to be whole and unhurt, the practically-immortal flesh of a lord of the fair folk… he closed his eyes to see better, and knew that they wanted to return to that state. All he had to do was show them how.

Jareth half heard the boy's childish voice say, "All right, pay attention, this is what you have to do." Then a wave of white light crashed into his consciousness and swept him away.

~*~

Kathy tousled her hair with her hands, which, after the events of the past few hours, actually made it neater. She looked down at Gutbucket and Screwtape, who looked back at her, helmets in hand.

"So, basically, you guys are saying that you don't know where we are or have any idea how to get to the castle?"

"Yes, Miz Williams," replied Screwtape.

"But I thought you lived here."

"Yes… but the Labyrinth is 'uge. An' it's 'is majesty's command that we keep to our own paths, our own villages. There's pathfinders, as can go anywheres, but we ain't them. We ain't never been in this bit."

"So not only does Jareth keep you all locked in the Underground, he also makes you keep to your own special areas? I thought he seemed like a control freak, but this is just stupid. Why does he do it?"

"Cos we're bloody stupid, Miz."

"Gutbucket!"

"Well, I wanted to answer one, boss!" squeaked the junior goblin.

Screwtape walloped him a good one on the back of his lumpy head. He then sighed, and said, " 'e's right, though, Miz Williams. Goblins don't got no sense of direction, nor good memories neither, and this keeps 'im from 'aving to keep 'is eyes open for us all the time. 'E's none too fond of us, but 'e don' want us getting' 'urt."

"That's one explanation. Or he could be keeping you in your own little groups so you don't unite and overthrow his plutocratic regime in bloody revolution."

"Wot's a blutocatic hygiene, Miz Williams?" asked Screwtape, scratching his ears.

"And wot's a revoltion?" chimed in Gutbucket.

"Or maybe I'm wrong and you really are bloody stupid. Never mind," sighed Kathy, peering into the dark forest ahead of her. "Well, thanks anyway. I'll be off now."

She strode off to the forest's edge, stopping when she heard the clanking footsteps behind her. Turning around had not been a successful action today, so she didn't look behind her. She just stopped, steepled her hands in front of her face, and closed her eyes. "What are you two doing?"

"We're comin' wif you, Miz Williams."\

"Ah. Somehow I suspected that might be it. Look, I've got no idea how to get where I'm going. You'll do just as well without me."

"But… 'ow will we know what to do without orders?"

"I don't know!" she said, loudly, lowering her hands, " 'Ow… I mean, _how_ do you normally act when no one tells you what to do?"

The goblins had caught her up, and stood at attention in front of her. The question seemed to confuse them, and they looked up at her without answering. Kathy glared down at them, but her glare was barely noticeable in comparison to the glares they were used to. She realized that she couldn't leave them behind: it would be the approximate moral equivalent of abandoning a puppy by the highway.

"Oh, _fine_. But you two had better not slow me up any, or I'll… I'll… I'll kick you into the marsh of stench."

"_Bog_ of _Eternal _Stench, Miz Williams," said Gutbucket, helpfully.

"Shut up."


	7. ...and pay for it

Kathy had to admit the two goblins she had adopted didn't slow her down at all. Admittedly, they made enough noise tramping through the dim, overgrown wood for an army, but they moved fast. She actually suspected they could have easily outrun her, had they been so inclined.

It was odd, really. They were small, but they had wickedly sharp teeth and long, curving claws on their gray hands. She'd ask them questions from time to time, and, once their answers were filtered from the matrix of bizarre accents and idiom that surrounded them, they really didn't seem to be _that_ stupid. More… simple. Screwtape, the older one, was more sensible than Gutbucket, but even he was hopelessly dependent on her to make decisions like: "Which fork looks like it will take us closer to the castle?" or "Shall we stop and climb a tree to see if we're heading the right direction?"

If she had told them, "Boys, go drink that poison," she suspected they would do it without question.

Back at school (wow, and didn't that seem like it was years ago… could it really have been less than a week?), Kathy had taken a few required psychology courses. She had paid a bare minimum of attention, the soft sciences having little appeal when contrasted with the glittering perfection of mathematics and physics that her astronomy major had provided. She remembered one class, though, taught by a middle-aged Swiss professor who had seemed unhealthily interested in the torturous treatments used until quite recently on the mentally ill. Kathy thought she would never forget the film of the so-called "Icepick lobotomy."

His actual area of research had been in "mental programming," specifically that used in cults. He had talked about Jim Jones, Charles Manson, David Koresh, and the Reverend Sun Myung Moon. He had talked about charisma and autohypnosis. He had talked about isolating the new inductee from friends, family, and the world. And he had talked about how, with time, it's entirely possible to completely control the average human mind.

Kathy was beginning to suspect something like that had happened to the goblins. Somehow, they had all been convinced that, despite their pointy fangs and razor-sharp claws, they were stupid, weak, and needed to be constantly guided. It was hard to believe, she knew: most of these men had controlled comparatively small groups, who they kept nearby. The really large-scale nutcases (the ones who got to run Germany in the thirties, f'rinstance) still spoke stirringly to their subjects on television, radio, and in the newspapers.

That hadn't happened here. Neither of the goblins had ever met Jareth in person before today. Gutbucket had never even seen him from a distance. How the hell could anyone, charisma or no, manage to keep thousands of people (and they were people, albeit non-human people) who had never even seen him on such a tight leash.

The answer came to her in a flash. Of course. The answer was so simple it was obvious. He may not have TV or the wonders of the Internet at his command, but the bastard has one thing that ol' Jim Jones would have loved. Magic. Now drink the Kool-Aid, boys, and wake up in the Promised Land, can you gimme hallelujah?

Kathy shivered, not because the thought was unpleasant (although it was), but because the air had gotten damp and chilly. Snapping out of her brown study, she realized that she could hear running water, and had been hearing it for some minutes. She squinted her eyes and stared along the deer-track that they had followed for the past hour or so. The light was growing dimmer, and the orange sky that was occasionally visible through the green canopy of the trees was turning to red. It was getting dark.

This annoyed her. She could just about deal with the fact that her little brother had been kidnapped by the King of the goblins. She could deal with the idea that her prosaic, comfortable universe was far from the other one. She had no problem with swimming in this universe's dark, confusing waters, regardless of the sharks in the depths. With an effort, she could even get behind the idea that a kids movie she had watched being filmed back in the days when she still played with Barbie dolls was more or less 100% accurate. Why not? When… if… she got out of this, she could have all the leisure to contemplate the madness of it all that she wanted. A nice room with padded walls to throw herself against was looking sweeter and sweeter.

But, damn it, she had left the house at nine that morning, and even the damn silver pocket watch said only five hours had passed, and there was no damn way it should be getting dark yet. She didn't have a flashlight, and this wasn't exactly Manhattan: if the sun set, she'd be blind, walking through a black forest with two goblin guard dogs who were utterly helpless without someone who could at least pretend to be in charge. The bum ankle was swelling painfully against her sneakers; the bruised rib made each breath a painful proposition. 

Kathy hated to think it, but this just wasn't fair. "Sometimes I think God is teasing me," she mumbled, running her hands through her sweaty hair, "Like he teased Moses in the desert." 

"Pardon, Miz?"

"Guess you don't get Fox out here. Never mind for now. Can you get up here and tell me what you see ahead there?"

Screwtape peered into the darkening forest with eyes like gimlets (Gimlet being the goblin who manned the watchtower for his village). "S'like a river, Miz. Wiv a bridge and a bit o'house next it. Looks empty."

"No bridge trolls or billy goats gruff?"

"Nar, Miz," chimed in Gutbucket, "It's 'ard to miss a troll, bein' five yards tall and wotnot. I wouldn't mind a goat or two. You can get a good feed off a goat."

"Anything else?"

Screwtape took back over the goblin half of the conversation, "Might be the woods is thinnin' a bit over there. If I guessed the dist'nce right when I climbed that tree back there, we might be getting to the edge."

__

Oh, thank you God, thought Kathy. "Great. Well, let's get a move on." 

The odd trio walked another half mile, until they came to the river and the bridge. The river was deep, and as clear as glass, the fading light tracing paths of gold on its gently rippling surface. In the pellucid depths, gold and silver fish chased one another through the wavering weeds and around the mossy stones.

The bridge was a horse of a different color. At one time it had been painted green, but years had worn off the paint, and the exposed wood was clearly beginning to rot. The "Little House" that Screwtape had described was an abandoned tollbooth, precariously perched at the top of the arch. Standing vertically in its slot was a pole, once striped in bumblebee black and yellow, now as faded and tattered as the rest of the structure.

Kathy looked at the whole with a dubious expression on her face. It seemed rather too easy of a trick, to lure them out onto a rickety bridge that might dump them into the water. Anyway, she could swim, even if the goblins couldn't. But maybe that was the trick: to get you off your guard. Or maybe it was just some sort of joke, to put you on your guard, and then let you cross safely, so next time something weird happened, you would think that it was just another trick, and then POW! Or maybe… Kathy cut her train of thought off before it would circle into a derailment. She turned to the goblins. "I'll go across first, to see if it's safe. Wait until I get to the other side, then follow."

Stepping cautiously onto the bridge, she began the crossing, keeping a grip on one of the rails. The wood creaked underneath her, but the planks were able to support her weight. Clinging tightly to the railing, she jumped once, experimentally. The wood didn't break. 

With more confidence, she strode up the arch of the bridge. At the top she slowed, and pressed herself to the far side of the bridge from the tollhouse. It was clearly empty, but there was something sinister about the dark holes-like-eyes of the tiny windows. Just before she reached the top, a wail, as of a long-closed door opening, tore loudly through the air. Kathy gasped, and, pressing her back against the railing, tensed to fight or to run.

So it was that the tollgate, its bumblebee colors long faded, wailing as its rusted hinge let it drop, caught her a good one on the knuckles as it landed against the railing. 

The pole, evidently having contributed its all in the making of her day miserable, snapped in the middle, and one half fell to the plank floor. Good riddance, thought Kathy, clasping her bruised fingers with her other hand.

"Bugger and Blast!" shouted someone from a thicket on the far side of the bridge. An chubby, older man, with gingery hair and a walrus mustache of the same color, waddled out of the shrubbery, hiking up brown breeches and tucking in a stained linen shirt.

He had no weapons and wasn't at all frightening, with a remarkable resemblance to the British actor Jim Broadbent. Kathy waited for him as he puffed his way up the bridge to stand in front of her. "Years of nothing," he gasped, "And a man heads off for a call of nature, begging your pardon, Miss Williams, and _then_ someone shows up."

He had reached her, and paused a moment, his walrus mustaches puffing in and out as he caught his breath. "Dreadfully sorry about that. Well, I may as well begin at the beginning." He drew a deep breath and shouted loudly enough to make Kathy jump.  
  
"TOLL BRIDGE! STOP AND PAY TOLL! FAILURE TO DO SO MAY RESULT IN PROSECUTION, FINES, AND IMMERSION INTO THE BOG OF ETERNAL STENCH!"

"Umm," said Kathy, with brilliant and sparkling wit, "Well… I don't have much, but…" She pulled her backpack to one side and opened up the pocket where her wallet was tucked away.

The bridge keeper cocked his head, and his brown eyes went blank. "You have: a flannel shirt a makeup bag contact lens case reading glasses a trashy Anne Rice novel a wallet containing one hundred twenty seven dollars fifty six cents American four pounds fifty British fifty pesos Mexican a checkbook various credit cards a Colorado driving license a student ID card a Sony Discman a half eaten bag of Skittles five types of lipgloss - really, that's a bit excessive on the lipgloss, don't you think? - a CD holder a half-pack of Camel cigarettes you bought six months ago while drunk and forgot you had five pens six pencils a keyring with four keys and a pocket calculator."

His eyes regained their expression (compensating for the glazed look that Kathy's own eyes had gotten during this recitation) and his head returned to full vertical. "None of them are suitable tolls for this bridge, Miss Williams."

Kathy blinked, mused a moment, and gestured at the silver hoops that hung in her ears. "How about my earri…?"

The bridgekeeper scoffed, and waved a hand dismissively, saying "Earrings? Molest me not with such fairground tat."

"Fairground what? I'll have you know these are one of a kind originals from Tiffany and Co…"

"Company? I'm afraid such foolish terrestrial distinctions are meaningless to me."

Kathy, a bit peeved at the continuous interruptions, raised her voice and called to the goblins, "Gutbucket, Screwtape, come on up here. Maybe they'll have something you…"

"Want? I'm afraid not, Miss Williams. They're your servants. The toll you pay allows them passage as well, but you can't pay it for them."

"They aren't my servants. They work for…"

"Jareth? Who gives them their orders?"

"Well, I _have_ been, but that's only because they're…"

"Lost? But they do follow you, do they not?"

"Yes, but it's only…"

"Temporary? Sorry, that makes them your servants, or your liegemen, anyway. The toll's all yours. Responsibility's a bitch, isn't it?"

The two goblins had joined up with Kathy and the Bridgekeeper, and looked up at the ginger-haired man with suspicious expressions on their odd little faces. He bowed politely to them, and asked Kathy, "Would you mind if we sat? I'm not so young as I once was, and I'm a bit puffed."

"Sure," she said, feeling bewildered, and carefully sat indian-style on the bridge. The Bridgekeeper flopped himself down with a grunt and sprawled spread-eagled on the planks. As for Gutbucket and Screwtape, they stood at attention until Kathy sighed and said, "You guys can sit down." At which point they did with great alacrity and murmurs of, "Yes, miz."

"Told you," chuckled the Bridgekeeper, "I'm surprised you dislike being responsible for them. You seem to easily accept responsibility for young Eric."

"He's my brother, it's different," grumbled Kathy, "And how do you know all this stuff…"

"Anyway? I'm the Bridgekeeper, Miss Williams. No one who crosses this bridge pays the same price, although it is expensive for all of them. I have to know about people to calculate the correct toll. While you are on my bridge, I can see into your past, and into the thousand thousand paths of your future. Seeing into your knapsack is a small trick that any idiot with an X-ray could manage."

"You know, I really wish you'd let me finish a sentence," she said, and then paused for a moment. "Oh. You did."

"I did indeed. You were showing some spirit. I was wondering when you would do that."

"I've been very goddamn spirited through this whole stupid…"  


"Labyrinth? I'm afraid not. Oh, at the beginning, before you knew what you were getting into, and with the keepers of the twin gates, yes. But ever since you had to face a truly threatening challenge, you've been doubtful and hesitant. It won't work for you."

"What do you…"

"Mean? I mean, Miss Williams, that on your path to the castle beyond the goblin city, you'll need your spirit. Take your Mother, the lady…"

"Sarah? Yes, please do take her."

"_Touché_. She's the only one to ever beat the King without his tacit approval. And that's because she instinctively recognized her path and followed it. She was a dreamer, and she made friends easily, and used those gifts to make her way through. You are no dreamer, and making friends is hard for you. If you try to take her path, you will lose. And badly."

"Badly? Like losing wouldn't suck enough. But you're wrong, I can make…"

"Friends? Oh, I know back in the world, you have a circle of acquaintances and well-wishers who you call friends… but really, you're the sort of person who makes two or three real friends in a lifetime. You're a loner. Even these goblins who you've picked up are your servants, and not your friends."

"Well…"

"See? Mind, it's not impossible for you to win anyway. In the lands of Huon, nothing is impossible. You've come farther than most, and you have certain gifts of your own. Brains, determination so hard you could break rocks with it, and a secret chill in your heart that will allow you to count costs and do the right thing no matter who gets hurt."

"Jeez. You make me sound like such a bitch."

"Call me a liar."

Kathy hesitated, tugging absently at a strand of her golden hair. "I… I guess I can't."

"A bitch isn't the worst thing in the world to be," said the Bridgekeeper, smiling sympathetically beneath his mustaches, "I've seen a bitch fox fight a wolf to the death in order to defend her kits. Now, with the pleasantries out of the way, shall we discuss the matter of your toll?"

"Um, sure. But you know everything I'm carrying… what else can I give you?"

"Didn't you ever read fairy tales? There are several traditional gifts, and some less common. The voice is always a popular one, but not very valuable in this case, I suspect."

"What's the hell's so bad about my voice?"

"Perhaps… the color of your skin? Or seventy-seven years of service, to begin in a year and a day unless you obtain a certain jeweled casket for me in the interim? Or your first-born child?"

"Well… I'd rather not go albino, if it's at all avoidable. And I'm not interested in being anyone's servant, or going on another quest. This one is enough for one lifetime. And I don't plan to have any children. You see, I feel that in our overpopulated world, it would be unethical to create another life when I could adopt an unwanted…"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, get over yourself, child," said the Bridgekeeper, his friendly face creasing in irritation, "Stop clinging to the certainties of your old life. Things are going to be different from this point on, and the sooner you get used to it, the better. You will have, not a child, but children. A pack of boys like stars and a single girl like the sun."

"What?!? How do you know… WAIT! Never mind! I don't want to know," she shouted, "Let's get back to the point. What else will you take?"

"Well, how about your name? Always a classic."

"My name? Well, I guess I could go by my middle name. I never liked "Linda" but it's not that bad once you get down to…"

"No, no, no… you misunderstand me. Katherine is only the name you were born with. You're welcome to that. The name written on your heart in lines of fire is Kathy, and that is what I'd take."

"But I don't even really like the name Kathy. People just started calling me that, and I just stopped trying to get them to quit."

"Nevertheless, it is who you are. What do you say?"

"Well, hell yeah! I thought I'd be lucky to get out of this one with my skin."

The bridgekeeper (and why did he look so sorrowful all of a sudden?) reached out a chubby finger and touched her chest, between her breasts, on the letter "u" of the "Vacuous Tart" slogan silk-screened onto her T-shirt. He drew back his hand, and a thread of amethyst light stretched from her sternum like taffy.

When it snapped, she gasped, although she didn't know why. The operation hadn't hurt a bit. In the bridgekeeper's callused palm rested a tiny amethyst sphere the size of the marble. It looked like it was lit from within, and she couldn't draw her eyes away from the light.

"Is that my name?" she breathed.

"Not anymore," said the Bridgekeeper. He closed his palm, and the light vanished. "I swear and certify that the toll for my bridge has been paid in full. You are free to proceed."

He pushed himself to his feet, not huffing anymore, but moving with surprising lightness for a man of his size. With ceremonial gestures, he raised the half of the gate that remained attached to its post, and then he was gone.

The goblins stared at her, fear and awe mingling in their eyes. "You shouldn't ought to 'ave done that, Miz Williams," mumbled Screwtape

"Why on earth not?"

"Well, 'at was your _name_, Miz. It's 'oo you_ is_," chimed in the junior goblin.

"This from someone named Gutbucket."

"'E's right, Miz. Wizards don't even tell their names to strangers, and actually givin' your actual name to someone…" said Screwtape, shuddering, "'At gives 'em power over you. A name defines somefing, miss. When you changes a name, right, you changes the fing, you see?"

She puzzled over that, "I don't really feel very different. Calmer, maybe. Less afraid… do I look different?"

Gutbucket shook his head in negation. Screwtape, with his larger experience of humans, wasn't so certain, and hesitated. It was slight, but noticeable… her cheekbones might have been a bit higher, her hair less of a mess, her eyes closer to true blue than their old ,muddied blue-gray, her voice smoother and less smoky. She was more beautiful than she had been, but less pretty. In all, she looked more like a "Katherine" than a "Kathy," now.

"Maybe a bit," he answered finally.

Her eyes narrowed, and she scrutinized him, sensing his hesitation. She might not have sensed it a moment ago. And a moment ago, she might have pursued the issue, or gotten a mirror out of her back and scrutinized her face, afraid she might have made the wrong decision after all.

She did not.

"Take what you want, and pay for it," she murmured, "Eric's worth it." Katherine rose to her feet and shouldered her backpack again. "Are you two coming or what? I'd like to get as far as I can before the sun sets"


	8. The Fool, the Boy, and the King

He was cold. There has been substantial debate over whether or not the fair folk have souls. But for a moment, he believed that_ he_ had one, if none of the others did, and had awakened in a rather unpleasant afterlife. Then the gray mists resolved themselves into the smoke stained stones of the ceiling of his own throne room. Jareth, surprised and pleased to find he was not dead, levered himself up onto his elbows. 

That boy was truly remarkable. Tugging off his right glove, he raised a hand to his face. His hand felt only the smooth contour of his jaw. Not even a scar.

"Remarkable," he mused aloud.

"I sent him off," a merry voice said behind him, "I have news to impart, your majesty."

Jareth turned his head, and his silver eyes narrowed to see the comically inflated figure of the bridgekeeper lolling in the throne, toying with a tiny purple crystal, and grinning.

"You overstep yourself, Lord Amadaun," he said, irritation apparent in his tone, "Both in giving commands and in your current position. Give your report and be gone."

Pouting theatrically, the heavy figure of the bridgekeeper dissolved into that of a much younger man. The brown eyes glittered black in a lean face, and the gingery hair brightened to the red of a fox's tail. But in his own lithe form, he stayed in his place on the throne, "Ah, but your majesty, the duty of a fool is to hold up a mirror to his masters, and allow them to see their own absurdity."

He danced the small crystal across the backs of his knuckles; "Perhaps I should get some snugger breeches… and some goblins to kick, to make the illusion complete."

Jareth was standing by now, and he folded his arms across his chest. "I have never been amused by your antics, my fool. Have you anything of import to say, or is this an oblique request for me to find a worse place to put you than the bridge?"

"Tsk… and after I've done such a favor for you. You really need to learn to laugh at yourself," he chuckled. "Not ten minutes gone, I met a young lady, who, although not_ remarkable_, seeing that she has no gift for magic, interests me strangely." Stretching, the Amadaun rose to his feet, and bowed, with a flourish, to Jareth. "Your throne, your majesty."

Jareth seated himself, cautiously. The sense of humor of any Amadaun is robust, tending to the explosive, and this one was worse than most. "You mean Katherine Williams."

"Oh, I do indeed, although I did not always mean such. I have seen the path of her life, and an interesting route she has yet to travel, through failure to loss to destruction, from song to singing. And though she has entered the wrong path, it is yet hers, and leads her inevitably to destiny"

Jareth pressed the tips of his gloved fingers to his face, "I desire plain speech in my court, fool."

The Amadaun laughed aloud at this, revealing slightly pointed teeth, "Court, indeed! Oh, I should cede my title to you, Lord of the Pun. But since you ask ever so kindly, I will tell you. This," and he twirled the amethyst crystal on his hand, "Is the once true name of young Katherine Williams, aged two-and-twenty, of the City of Angels. Catch!"

Catching it easily, Jareth scrutinized the tiny purple sphere. "And she gave it to you freely?"

"Taking my mark from my master, I left a great deal unsaid, but yes, she did."

"Interesting," he said, shortly.

"Indeed, yes, to have the power of your opponent condensed into a tiny, easy-to-carry package. And what will you do with it, good King Jareth? A weapon? Not, mind, that you will need a weapon. She's stepped off of her path, now."

"What are you jabbering about?"

"Well, the fair Katherine is on the fair Kathy's road, isn't she? And if you stray from your proper path in the underground…"

"Ah, I see. Very well. I thank you for your good service, Amadaun. You have my permission to depart."

The Amadaun swept an even deeper bow, the red silk of his shoulder-length hair actually brushing the ground. "It is always my pleasure to serve you, your majesty."

Smiling and whistling a tune of his own invention, he walked out of the chamber. As soon as the heavy door closed behind him, the smile widened into a grin, showing his sharp teeth, and his black eyes glittered madly. "Oh, I'll serve you all right, Jareth. Just wait and see," he whispered.

~*~

Eric sat uncomfortably in a plush velvet chair in one of the antechambers of the court. His short legs dangled. This room was less rustic than the throne room, but the décor was still immense, gothic, and calculated to intimidate. He was cold, and had put his jacket back on.

The fat man had hustled him out of the room without so much as a "by your leave," not that Eric had bothered to protest. The Goblin King had been terrifyingly still, his breathing barely noticeable, after the healing, but Eric had not been afraid. Inside he knew that all would be well. And his emotions had been in a welter.

Magic. Wow. Not just some tricks with a crystal, but actually mending wounds with the power within him. It was unbelievably cool, and he wanted to do more and more… but doubt was beginning to set in. Earlier that morning, Kathy had talked about how the X-men and Harry Potter had problems because of their special powers. Would something like that happen to him? Would Mom, and Dad, and Kathy be afraid of him? (He wouldn't mind if Jared were afraid of him, at least a little. Jared was a typical older brother, and Eric had gotten a lot of Indian burns off of him.) Would they send him away? Would they hate him?

Suddenly, super powers didn't seem like such a good idea. He wished Kathy would get here soon, and then they could go home, and together they'd figure out what to do. The sound of a closing door pulled him from his reverie, and he hopped out of his chair and trotted over to the tall figure of the Goblin King.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I am… okay," replied Jareth, "Thanks to you." And to Eric's great surprise, the older man inclined his head in a bow.

"It was nothing," said Eric, blushing beneath his freckles.

"No? You saved me, when letting me die would have been a much more expedient and simple way to assure your return home."

"What's expedient?"

"Never mind. The point is I owe you a boon… that means a favor," Jareth inserted, forestalling the question forming on Eric's face, "And a great one, to pay my wightgild… that means the cost of saving my life. Come with me."

And following along, taking two steps for every stride the Goblin King's dusty boots made, Eric did. They walked through close to twenty rooms, many of which were deeply peculiar. One was packed with chests brim-filled with jewelry. Another was packed with chests brim-filled with penguins. Jareth walked through both of these with the same distracted expression on his face, nudging the penguins gently aside with his boots.

There was a music room, and a conservatory filled with orange trees and steam. The next room was filled with nothing but bottles, all of which were tightly corked and waxed, with swirling vapors eddying inside them. And finally, they came to a door of age-blackened oak, bound with rusting iron fittings. Jareth, taking care not to touch the metal, opened the old lock of this door with a key made of copper.

This room was circular, smaller than most of the others, which meant it was no more than twenty yards across. It was still, clean, and had the hushed ambiance of a museum. In glass-and-oak cases arrayed in close order around the chamber were a wide variety of items. Placed together in one case were a genuine Hopi Kachina doll, an emerald necklace, and a helmet from the Norman Conquest with a bent nosepiece.

Eric looked up at Jareth curiously. "These," said Jareth, "Are the most powerful magical objects I have collected in my lifetime."

"There's a lot of them."

"I've lived a long time."

"How old are you?"

"I'm really quite old by your standards. Let's leave it at that. Any one of these is worth a King's ransom… a Goblin King's ransom, in fact. And in return for your help, you may take any one that you like."

"Seriously?"

"Of course."

"Sweet!" Eric darted off through the room, peering with unvarnished avarice at the cases, his earlier hesitation forgotten. Jareth repressed a smile. The boy was a wizard in more ways than one. None of them could resist a free lunch.

"What does this do?" asked Eric, pointing to what looked like a shoe for a very small horse, made of a matte black material.

"That is…" Jareth searched his memory, "That is a love magnet. Carry it in your pocket and it makes women fall madly in love with you."

"Ew. Never mind."

"Someday you'll regret that statement, I assure you."

"If it's so great, why don't you carry it with you, then?"

"Well," smirked the Goblin King, as the faint reflection of his perfect body, chiseled features, white-blond hair, and immaculate tailoring glinted in the glass of a nearby case, "_I _don't need to. But the choice is yours. Keep on looking if you like."

Eric did. And passing through the chamber, he found his eye drawn to an old bronze sword with a willow-leaf blade. It was unadorned, and scratched, though brightly polished and kept on a bed of red velvet. He paused, and hovered over the case. "What's this?"

Strolling over, Jareth drew his breath in between his teeth as he saw the child's selection. "That is the sword Fragarach, the Answerer. It's an Irish sword, and was forged in the Last Alliance between your people and mine, against… well, against an enemy of both our kindred. The first to carry it was Lugh the Allcrafted, who forged it. The last was Setanta, who was called Cuchullain. After he died, there was no hand in the world who could bear the spirit that was in it, and at the Queen's command, it passed into the hills."

Eric did not recognize the names, but something strange was in Jareth's voice, and he looked at the battered old blade with awe and respect, "I… I think I'd like to have it."

"I'm afraid that you've lit on something that I cannot give you freely. To me it's a sword, no more, no less. But to you… you're a mortal boy, though a strange one. And no mortal since Cuchullain's time has been able to carry it, though many have tried. If it will go with you, then it shall be your gift. But the choice belongs to the blade."

"How will I know what it wants?"  


"You'll know." With the copper key, hey opened the glass case, and took the sword out. Cradling the blade on his forearm, he offered the hilt to Eric, who reached out shyly and took it.

"Is something going to happen?" he asked, sounding worried.

"Evidently not. It would have resisted you already if it was going to. Fragarach is yours, Eric Williams. Be worthy of it."

The boy held the blade in both hands. "It's heavy," he said, gently extending a feather-light touch to the edge. "OW! And sharp."

"Sharper than you think. It's the blade of the Air, and is as sharp as the bitterest wind of November. With it, you're the master of the four winds."

"Jeez. Mom never lets me play with sharp objects. She says they aren't safe, and I could hurt myself."

"Well, so you have. It's a very valuable lesson. I doubt you'll be touching the edge again, will you?"

"No, sir."

"Come along, then. I'll see if I can't find you a scabbard. And perhaps I can teach you something of how to use your new tool."

"Well…" Eric hesitated, "I probably ought to go back and watch Kathy in the crystal."

Jareth did not want to upset the boy at this critical juncture, and whatever was going to happen to Katherine next would undoubtedly be upsetting. So, with a smile on his face and in his voice, he laughed, "Your dutiful nature to your sister is admirable. But watching her will not make a whit of difference to her success or failure. A short lesson in swordsmanship will take no time at all, and then you can go back to the crystals. Agreed?"

"Agreed," smiled Eric. As the two walked through the halls, he reached up a hand and took Jareth's gloved hand in his. The king felt an abrupt stab of shame.

__

This boy thinks I am his friend. I snare him in the underground, conspire to keep his power under my control… and all he sees is that I gave him a gift, and that I aided his sister, and that I am willing to be his teacher in the arts that terrify and exalt him. Was I ever that trusting?

A rogue thought flickered in behind this.

He should have been my son.

~*~

(Notes: Fragarach (Sword of Air), the Lia Fail (Stone of Destiny), the Gae Bolg (Spear of Destiny), and the Pair Cadeni (Cauldron of Rebirth) are the four treasures of the Tuatha de Danaan (the old gods of Ireland). Forged by Lugh the Allcrafted for a battle with the evil-eyed lord Balor of the Fomori, it was later given to Cuchullain, the hero of Ulster. It was taken out of the world after his death and held in trust by the Sidhe (Fairies), with the understanding that mortals would be needing it later. It is pronounced FRAG-uh-rack. Don't you just love pillaging mythology for your fanfics? Saves so much time and effort.

Also, an Amadaun (pronounced AM-ah-dawn, more or less) is a fool, adviser, and messenger to a court of the Sidhe. They're dangerous servants, sometimes able to kill mortals with a word. They're typically very wise and prophetic.)


	9. Siren Song

"Alas

it is a boring song

but it works every time."

From "Siren Song", by Margaret Atwood

~*~

The sun had vanished behind the hills in the distance, but the sky in what Katherine assumed was probably the west was still lit up in roses and purples. She knew what caused spectacular sunsets: air pollution. Smog. Particulates.

She hoped Jareth would choke on them.

That was a "Kathy" thought, wasn't it, not a "Katherine" one? It was hard to imagine a Katherine cursing her enemies with pollutant-sensitive asthma. A Katherine would probably… oh, probably a Katherine would never have gotten into a situation like this. Katherines were Queens. Tough. Noble. Courageous. Catherine of Aragon, first wife of Henry the Eighth. Catholic. Divorced in favor of Anne Boleyn. Spent the rest of her life pining over her fat, syphilitic husband. Prize doormat. Maybe not. How about Katherine the Great? Russian. Took hundreds of lovers. Collected thousands of pieces of art. Maybe. Except didn't she die on the toilet?

Maybe not. 

"Great role models," murmured Katherine, and then wondered if Katherines talked to themselves, and tried to recount other times when Kathy had thought aloud.

"Which way, miz?" asked Screwtape. The path had come to a fork. Both of the routes seemed to lead approximately in the direction of the castle, hulking on a hill, its windows lighting one by one. One road was a faint, grassy track, the other was well traveled, wide, and made of cobblestones.

"I don't know. I'm guessing there's probably something awful down both," she replied. She reached into the little fifth pocket of her jeans, and pulled out a quarter. "Heads, we go left… Tails, right. Ready?" She flipped the coin into the air, where it caught the red light of sunset, and vanished at the apex of its toss with an audible "plop" of displaced air.

"And just what the HELL is that supposed to mean?" she shouted at no one in particular.

The goblins conferred among themselves, and Gutbucket came back with, "It means that neither of them is the right path, miz. Some'ow we've come astray. Probably somefing to do wif events at the bridge, Miz." Both goblins looked at her reproachfully. They had repeatedly explained how it was insanely stupid to give up your name to a stranger, albeit without actually calling her "insanely stupid". Some things, to them, clearly went without saying.

"Oh, Christ," she grated out, and sighed, "Fine. Let's take the path more traveled by. At least we'll get to the next stupid damn symbolic task quicker."

The three walked onto the cobbled lane that wound through the ferny grasslands.

~*~

Torches, candles, and oil lamps lighted the throne room. The hundreds of flames heated it, as did the breaths of the goblins packed around a circle in the center. It had been cold, and silent, but now it was warmed, and riotously noisy with the voices of goblins, the high laughter of a boy, and the clipped accents of its King.

"Look over there! A squadron of elephants in Sopwith Camels!"

Eric turned around, tricked by the tone of voice rather than the content, and Jareth's blunted practice blade touched his back above the heart.

"Touché."

"Hey! That's not fair," complained Eric, although he was laughing.

"Oh, honestly, when will you people give it up?" replied Jareth, laughing in his turn, "This isn't chess, boy. All's fair, and cheating is encouraged. If I were concerned about fairness I wouldn't play at blades with a ten year old."

"I'm eleven!"

"As you say. But sit down. You're panting." Snapping his gloved fingers, Jareth strode to his throne and flung himself into it. He wasn't even breathing hard. Drawing a white handkerchief from the air with a gesture, he handed it to Eric. "And sweating." 

Eric sat down at the foot of the throne, mopped his freckled forehead, and drank deeply from the glass of water proffered to him by a servitor-goblin.

"Thank you," he said politely to the goblin, which blushed black and scurried off. "Gee, what'd I say? Can I have a crystal, your highness? I want to see what Kathy's doing."

"In a moment, boy. First I was wondering if you've considered what we discussed earlier."

"What that we discussed earlier?"

"If you would like to stay of your own free will. Now that you've seen a bit more of what the Underground has to offer, perhaps you have reached a decision?"

Eric looked down, and Jareth knew the answer in that averted glance. _Damn_, he thought. "Um, sire…" said Eric, "Thank you very much, but, I want to go home. Even if the others wouldn't miss me, I would miss them too much."

Damn damn _damn_.

"Very well, young Eric. Speaking of games of chess, do you play?"

"Sometimes, with Jared."

"Jared being…"

"My big brother, your majesty."

"Your mother named her firstborn son Jar_ed_?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hm. Well, perhaps you might be a worthwhile opponent, then. You can't be much worse than a goblin, anyway." A board on a round, marble-topped table materialized before him. "You can play white."

"Actually, I probably should look in the crystal for Kathy…"

Jareth exhaled an exaggerated sigh. "Of course, if you like. Although it will do her no earthly good, and you have very little time left to try and best me in anything. Certainly I'm the better swordsman… I suppose the question of who is the better strategist will have to go unanswered."

Eric stiffened, staring at the Goblin King on his throne, "What makes you think I want to beat you at anything?"

"It's obvious. You're a human boy, and a young wizard. As such, naturally you will want to test your teeth against your elders and betters. So…" extending a gloved hand, he pushed the board an inch towards Eric. "Your move."

"Bring it on."

They're so very easy to distract when they're young.

~*~

The ferny path had faded into a maze of privet hedges higher than her head, so subtly that Katherine had not noticed the change. And it wasn't really a maze. There was only one path, and although its course was tortuous, it clearly was aiming towards one final goal. What was the word for a maze like that?

__

Well, duh. A Labyrinth. Sheesh. This was from the practical, sensible part of herself that Katherine hadn't heard since coming on the magical mystery tour section of her Christmas break. It was something of a relief to hear that hectoring voice again.

A Labyrinth. She had seen one at the cathedral at Chartres, the summer after she graduated high school. It was a spiral on the floor, worn into grooves by the generations of pilgrims crawling towards its center on hands and knees. Hopefully the center of this was the Castle Beyond the Goblin City. 

__

Well, it's a relief not to have to make any more decisions, anyway, piped up practicality again. Katherine scrunched up her brow at that one. Sensibility was a bitch sometimes, but she never had told her to stop thinking before. Maybe that little voice in her head had changed her name too.

There is a problem with being practical and sensible, although most people will never encounter it. In a rational world, practicality and sensibility are the best way to get you through the day. But in a world where rationality is not on a first-name basis with reality (It has to call him "Mister Reality") the practical and sensible thing to do is to be neither practical, nor sensible.

This makes no sense. But it's true. That's a characteristic of the lands beyond the fields we know.

Katherine raised her head at the sound of women's voices ahead of them. They were sweet, and melodious, and very much human. Practical-sensible said, _Oh, let's hurry before they go away. Perhaps they will help us._

Instinct said, _Actually, it might be a good idea at this point to cover our ears and run like hell_. But Katherine couldn't hear her instincts as well as Kathy once did, and the voice was faint.

She picked up her pace. The goblins glanced at one another, and said, "Miz Williams?" Katherine ignored them, and started jogging.

"Wot's she about, then?" asked Gutbucket.

"I dunno, but I don' like it," replied Screwtape, unsheathing his sword. "C'mon, lad."

They trotted along behind her, sprinting when they saw Kathy start racing ahead. The hedge-path led them along its meandering path for a few minutes, until the turning of a corner revealed a small silver lake. On an island in the center, three women, dressed in white gowns that shone like the scales of a fish, or the plumage of a bird, played upon lutes, and sang in sensible, practical voices:

"The truth is this,

All are snared in their dreams each night.

But sometimes there is an opportunity

for the wise to see clearly, and say:

this is not the truth of the world

for such things as these do not exist!

And on saying such, the dream most often changes.

But if it does not, one may still triumph

by riding the night mare, and not vice versa!

By stepping off the path of the evil dream.

And saying, This dream is mine, and I its master.

Thus, refuse to be carried in the eddies and swirls of hollow fantasy!

So you shall awaken in the morning,

seeing the folly of the twisted logic of the dream

that seemed so sensible before.

And all that shall remain is a fading memory

Gone even before breakfast."

"It don't even rhyme," said Gutbucket.

"It's a siren song, 'alfwit. The rhyming ain't the point," replied You-know-who, looking up at Katherine. She had waded out to her ankles, and now stood staring at the three feathery women on their island. The silver water lapped around her ankles and soaked her sneakers, but she was oblivious. "It's wot she wants to 'ear, see? And they make 'er believe it's the truth." 

"Well, now wot?"

Screwtape stretched out a knobbly hand and extended his four black claws. "Well, we've got to try and snap 'er out of it, eh?"

And he took a swipe across her calf, cutting through the fabric of her jeans as easily as a razor, and opening three deep cuts in the flesh of her leg. She didn't even flinch.

"Bugger."

~*~

Eric stared at the board intently.

"Take your time, boy."

Eric reached out his freckled hand and moved his bishop. Jareth smiled his wolf's grin, and moved a knight. "Check. It's important to take control of the center, Eric. Your move." 

"Crap."

~*~

Time passed. Too much. The pocket watch, sitting forgotten in Katherine's backpack, ticked ever closer to thirteen o'clock.

~*~

And then a figure appeared in out of the darkness. It seemed mightily misshapen, until it became clear that it was in fact, two figures, a dwarf carried on the shoulders of a beast.

"Ohh…" grumbled Hoggle, "Put me down, will you? This doesn't look good."

He splashed through the shallows of the lake, to where Katherine stood, still gazing out towards the now shadow-hidden island. The scratches on her leg had scabbed over long since. She stood bent at the waist, since hanging off of her front (One gnarled hand gripping the front of her t-shirt, iron-booted feet planted on her slim stomach) was Gutbucket, waving his sword in her face and shouting "WAKE UP, YOU DAFT BINT!"

"Climb down off of there. Ye've got to stop her from hearing the song, idiot. Otherwise we'll be here forever. Give us a boost."

The two goblins, mightily relieved to have someone giving them orders again, each took one leg and lifted Hoggle to the level of Katherine's face.

"Well, _you_ don't much take after your mum, do you? At least she didn't get stuck in her fantasies for hours." He reached out his hands and pressed them firmly over her ears. "Damn. She's good n'thralled. Ludo, see what you can do."

The beast nodded, and raised his horned head towards the starry sky. He knew how to summon the rocks, and this was more or less the same principle. The low bellowing note he sounded spoke to Katherine's bones, which passed a message through her blood and finally up to her brain.

Her blue-gray eyes cleared, and she wobbled where she stood. "What the…" she whispered.

"NOW GRAB HER AND RUN!" shouted Hoggle.

The goblins and the dwarf pushed her down, and catching her on their shoulders, splashed off around the shallows of the lake like the world's oddest hunters hurrying home from a successful foray.

Ludo ambled on after them. "Ludo friend." He waved amiably to the sirens on their island. One of them made a very rude gesture in reply, and all of them shouted imprecations that he ignored easily.

When Hoggle adjudged them to be out of earshot, he and the goblins slowed to a stop, and set Katherine down. "Okay…" she said, "So what just happened? And why are my feet wet?"

"You got snared by some sirens," said Hoggle, "It was lucky your mum sent us after you, or you might still 'ave been there."

"My _mother_ sent you? How… who… you're… Hogwash? And Ludo?"

"Hog_gle_," growled the dwarf, "What's so hard to remember about my name?"

Katherine was ignoring him and rummaging through her backpack. She tugged out the silver pocketwatch and fumbled it open. The blood drained from her face, and her hands went cold at what she saw.

"Oh no…" she moaned, "No no no no _no_… there's less than an hour _left_."

She stared up at Hoggle and Ludo, in a panic. "Do you two know a shortcut from here?" she pleaded.

"There's no shortcuts in the Labyrinth, miss."

"Oh _no_…" she ran her hands through her hair, "Screwtape, give me your sword."

"Now, miss," hastened Hoggle, as Screwtape unfastened his sword belt, "Don't do anything rash. There's always a chance."

"I know," replied Katherine, in grim tones, stuffing the watch into her back pocket and taking the sword, "And I'm taking it. Screwtape, Gutbucket… thank you for your help. But you'll have to follow me as best you can, if you still want to."

She raised the sword, which was shorter than she would have liked, but would have to do. "From here on out, I'm going in straight lines."

The windows of the castle were lit, glowing out into the darkness. She tensed her legs and lunged, whirling the sword before her, into the first privet hedge between her and the goal. The brambles tore at her clothes and scratched her bare arms, but she pressed through.

One down. One maze-worth to go.

~*~

It was really a valiant effort.

But time was too short. She heard the whirring of the clockwork as the hands reached the end of their circuit, but kept running desperately. With the first chime, she vanished from the maze, her borrowed sword clattering to the ground.

She didn't make it.

She didn't even come close.


End file.
